THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

Rare  Book  Room 
GIFT  OF 

John  W.  Beckman 


/V//V 


Page  212. 


THE 


YOUNG     LADY'S 


HOME, 


BY 


MRS.  LOUISA  C.  TUTHILL. 

AUTHOR  OF  "  I  WILL  BE  A  LADY,"  "  I  WILL  BE  A  GENTLEMAlf,' 
"MY  WIFE,"  ETC. 


"A  traveller  betwixt  life  and  death; 
The  reason  firm,  the  temperate  will, 
Endurance,  foresight,  strength,  and  skill, 
A  perfect  woman,  nobly  planned 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  command ; 
And  yet  a  spirit  still,  and  bright, 
With  something  of  an  angel  light." 

WORDSWORTH. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
LINDSAY    &    BLAKISTON, 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1848,  by 
LOUISA  C.   TUTHILL, 

in  the  clerk's  office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


STEREOTYPED    BY    J.    FAGAN. 


(2) 


CONTENTS. 


INTRODUCTION. 

PAGE 

LEAVING  SCHOOL 7 

CHAPTER  I. 

FORMATION    OF    CHARACTER 12 

CHAPTER  II. 

MENTAL    CULTURE 15 

CHAPTER  III. 

MEMORY 22 

CHAPTER  IV. 

IMAGINATION 35 

•  CHAPTER  V. 

JUDGMENT 43 

CHAPTER  VI. 

HISTORY 48 

CHAPTER  VII. 

NATURAL   SCIENCE 55 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

ENGLISH    LITERATURE , 57 

(iii) 


iv  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  IX. 
COMPOSITION    65 

CHAPTER  X. 

MODERN  LANGUAGES «-      70 

CHAPTER  XI. 

CULTIVATION   OF   TASTE 73 

CHAPTER  XII. 


PHYSICAL 


EDUCATION .  , •       78 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

POLITENESS 83 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
WOMAN'S  HOME  INFLUENCE 90 

CHAPTER  XV. 
A  DAUGHTER'S  DUTY  103 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
A  SISTER'S  INFLUENCE 120 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   ECONOMY   OF   HOME T 149 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
DRESS 163 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

CONVERSATION 168 

CHAPTER  XX. 

EMPLOYMENT   OF   TIME ,  .  .  .178 


CONTENTS.  V 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

FRIENDSHIP 187 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

ACTING   FROM   GENERAL  PRINCIPLES 191 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

PREJUDICE 198 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

CONSISTENCY  OF    CHARACTER 207 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

MARRIAGE 212 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  CLAIMS  OF  SOCIETY 261 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

READING    THE   SACRED   SCRIPTURES 281 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE   STANDARD   OF    CHRISTIAN    CHARACTER 286 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

CHRISTIAN   DUTY.  —  CHEERFULNESS 299 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

CHRISTIAN    DUTY.  —  FORGIVENESS   AND    FORBEARANCE,    SELF- 
DENIAL,    SELF-GOVERNMENT,   PRAYER 309 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

CHRISTIAN   USEFULNESS 318 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

CONCLUSION 325 

1* 


"There  are  few  individuals  whose  education  has  been  conducted,  in  every 
respect,  with  attention  and  judgment.  Almost  every  man  of  reflection  is  con- 
scious, when  he  arrives  at  maturity,  of  many  defects  in  his  mental  powers,  and 
of  many  inconvenient  habits,  which  might  have  been  prevented  or  remedied  in  hia 
infancy  or  youth.  Such  a  consciousness  is  the  first  step  towards  improvement ; 
and  the  person  who  feels  it,  if  he  is  possessed  with  resolution  and  steadiness,  will 
not  scruple  to  begin  a  new  course  of  education  for  himself.  It  is  never  too  late  to 
think  of  the  improvement  of  our  faculties." 

DCG.VLD   STEWAPvT. 


(Yi) 


THE 


YOUNG  LADY'S  HOME, 


INTRODUCTION. 

LEAVING   SCHOOL. 

"  Up  springs,  at  every  step,  to  claim  a  tear, 
Some  little  friendship  formed  and  cherished  here  | 
And  not  the  lightest  leaf,  but  trembling  teems 
With  golden  visions  and  romantic  dreams." 

ISABELLA,    CLARA,    GERALDINE. 

SCENE. — A  room,  with  dresses,  bonnets,  books,  music,  fyc.,  scattered  about 
in  dire  confusion;  the  three  young  ladies  employed  in  packing  their 
travelling  boxes  and  portmanteaus. 

Isabella.  Home !  home !  Done  with  school-  for  ever  ! 
Delightful!  Isn't  it,  girls,  perfectly  delightful  to  be 
free  as  air  ?  I  will  not  carry  home  these  hateful,  hum- 
drum books.  Hedge's  Logic  !  —  a  hedge  of  thorns ! 
(throwing  it  across  the  room.)  Brown's  Philosophy, 
you  take  up  too  much  room.  Cruel  Colburn's  Sequel, 
how  many  bitter  tears  you  have  cost  me  !  I  hope  never 
to  see  your  ugly  faces  again. 

Clara.  But,  Isabella,  are  you  going  to  give  up  study 
entirely  ?  What  will  you  do  with  yourself  when  you 
get  home  ? 

CO 


8  THE  YOUNG  LADY'S  HOME. 

Isabella.  Make  the  most  of  my  little  self,  —  create  a 
sensation,  —  make  a  dashing  debut.  You  know  I  am 
eighteen,  and  I  am  coming  out  as  soon  as  I  get  home. 
Clara  Wilton,  that  reproving  look  does  n't  become  you, 
dear !  You  have  toiled  and  moiled  for  the  gold  medal, 
and  have  gained  it.  What  good  will  it  do  you  ?  Per- 
haps you  intend  to  wear  it  on  all  occasions,  suspended 
by  its  yard  of  blue  ribbon  around  your  neck,  as  the  In- 
dians do  the  great  silver  medals  given  them  by  their 
kind  father,  the  President. 

Clara.  Isabella,  I  value  a  good  education  for  its  own 
sake.  The  medal  may  testify  to  my  parents  that  I 
have  appreciated  the  advantages  they  have  generously 
bestowed.  I  shall  give  it  to  my  mother. 

Isabella.  Well,  my  parents  don't  care  a  sous  about 
all  these  sober  studies  that  Goody  Blue  has  bored  us 
with ;  they  know  it  gives  one  a  sort  of  reputation  to  be 
educated  by  Mrs.  Z.,  so  here  I  've  been  these  four 
years.  They  expect  me  to  come  out  with  eclat,  and  I 
do  mean  to  produce  a  wonderful  sensation.  I  believe 
I  shall  throw  the  rest  of  these  books  overboard  to-day, 
on  my  way  to  New  York,  just  out  of  spite  for  the 
trouble  they  have  given  me. 

Geraldine.  I  shall  be  half-inclined  to  join  you,  for  I 
do  not  know  what  good  they  will  ever  do  me.  What 
use  shall  I  ever  make  of  the  mathematics  and  phi- 
losophy? '-  .  V 

Clara.  You  will  not  find  them  useless ;  you  may  be 
disposed  to  resume  them  by  yourself,  after  you  have 
been  home  awhile. 

Geraldine.  J>en  doute.  I  am  going  to  Europe  with 
my  father  and  mother,  to  finish  my  education.  We 


LEAVING    SCHOOL.  9 

shall  reside  a  year  or  two  in  Paris,  and  I  shall  come 
home  parfaitement  Franqaise. 

Clara.  Parfaitement  Franqaise,  to  reside  in  this 
country  and  be  a  good,  useful  American  woman ! 

Geraldine  (laughing).  A  good,  useful  American 
woman  !  How  that  sounds  to  «  ears  polite  ;"  absolutely 
vulgar.  I  seek  for  something  more  recherche,  more  ele- 
gant than  that.  I  go  abroad  to  obtain  that  retenue,  that 
abandon  of  manner,  that  cannot  be  acquired  in  this  half- 
civilized  land. 

Isabella.  And  to  be  laughed  at  for  your  abandong,  as 
you  call  it,  which  will  sound  very  droll  to  French  "  ears 
polite." 

Geraldine.  That  is  another  object  in  going  to  Paris, 
to  acquire  a  true  Parisian  accent.  I  shall  not  venture 
to  speak  in  foreign  society  until  I  have  had  a  master 
some  months.  When  I  return,  two  years  hence,  you 
shall  have  no  occasion  to  laugh  at  my  French. 

Isabella.  -The  French  are  so  ridiculous  they  are 
enough  to  make  a  milestone  laugh.  What  are  you  going 
to  do,  Clara  ? 

Clara.  I  expect  to  continue  my  studies,  that  I  may 
more  perfectly  understand  them.  I  hope  to  be  useful 
to  my  mother,  who  has  kindly  promised  to  teach  me 
domestic  economy ;  so  long  as  life  lasts,  there  will  be 
knowledge  to  which  I  have  not  attained,  virtues  to  be 
perfected,  and  good  to  be  done ;  "  vulgar"  as  it  sounds, 
my  highest  aim  is  to  be  a  good,  thorough-going  Ameri- 
can woman. 

Isabella.  Spoken  like  our  old  country  schoolmistress 
herself!  Pity  you  could  not  have  mounted  her  high 
cap  and  green  spectacles  for  the  occasion.  Keally,  she 
never  made  a  bettor  preachment  in  her  life. 


10  THE  YOUNG  LADY7S  HOME. 

Clara.  Well,  girls,  be  merry  if  you  will  at  my  sober 
notions,  but  let  us  part  kindly;  we  may  never  meet 
again. 

Geraldine.  You  will  both  write  to  me,  girls  ? 

Clara.  I  will,  with  pleasure,  if  you  will  let  me  know 
your  father's  foreign  address  before  you  sail. 

Isabella.  I  doubt  if  I  shall  have  time  to  write  to  either 
of  you.  I  have  formed  a  thousand  plans  for  next  winter. 
I  am  still  to  have  a  music-master,  and  must  practise  at 
least  three  hours  a  day,  or  I  shall  never  rival  the  Hamil- 
tons  and  the  Moores,  who,  papa  writes  me,  play  so  ex- 
quisitely that  all  the  world  are  in  love  with  them. 
Here  comes  an  Atlas  in  the  midst  of  my  music-books, 
like  a  clown  in  genteel  society ;  —  stay  where  you  are, 
I  am  not  going  to  take  you  to  town  with  your  betters. 
Shall  I  put  up  my  French  Testament  ?  No  ;  I  '11  make 
you  a  present  of  it,  Clara,  and  one  of  these  days  you 
may  give  it,  with  my  compliments,  to  —  you  know  who, 
—  that  ministerial  personage  who  often  glides  before 
your  imagination. 

Clara.  That  personage  is  all  in  your  own  imagina- 
tion, Isabella ;  but  I  thank  you  for  the  gift,  and  if  I 
ever  have  an  opportunity  shall  present  it,  with  your 
compliments,  if  you  will  promise  to  officiate  as  bride's- 
maid  on  that  occasion. 

Isabella.  Delightful!  I'll  come,  unless  I  am  led  to 
the  hymeneal  halter  before  you. 

Geraldine.  Invite  me  too,  Clara ;  I  shall  perhaps 
have  just  returned  from  Europe. 

Clara.  And  will  then  be,  I  fear,  un  peu  trop  Fran- 
gaise. 

Geraldine  (coldly).   C'est  possible. 


LEAVING    SCHOOL.  11 

Isabella.  Write  to  me,  Clara,  now  and  then,  from 
your  hermitage,  and  tell  me  how  you  endure  it;  but 
don't  bore  me  with  too  much  grave  advice. 

Clara.  I  will  write  to  you  both  (holding  out  her  hand 
Idndly  to  Geraldine)  ;  forgive  me  for  seeming  to  reject 
your  kindness.  I  thought  some  whiskerandoed  Fran- 
$ais  might  claim  you  for  his  bride,  long  before  the  time 
to  which  you  alluded. 

Geraldine.  You  are  forgiven.  I  know  how  dearly 
you  love  your  own  country ;  that  is  your  prejudice  ; 
mine  is  the  other  way ;  I  would  give  half  my  expecta- 
tions to  have  been  born  in  France. 

Isabella.  And  I  would  rather  have  been  bom  in  New 
York,  than  in  any  other  place  on  the  wide  earth. 

Clara.  And  I  am  only  proud  of  being  an  American. 
North  or  south,  east  or  west,  makes  no  difference ; 
every  inch  of  the  United  States  is  home  to  me.  Hark ! 
There  goes  Mrs.  Z.'s  bell,  —  the  last  time  we  shall  hear 
it.  Who  would  have  thought  that  any  possible  associa- 
tion could  have  made  that  shrill,  tingling  bell  interesting ! 
The  last  time,  —  the  last  time  ;  —  it  makes  any  sound 
mournful. 

[Exeunt  omnes. 


CHAPTER  I. 

FORMATION   OF   CHARACTER. 

"  Reason  frowns  on  him  who  wastes  that  reflection  on  a  destiny 
independent  of  him,  which  he  ought  to  reserve  for  actions  of  which 
he  is  master."  —  SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH. 

WHEN  a  young  man  has  finished  his  collegiate  course 
of  education,  he  enters  immediately  upon  the  study  of 
the  profession,  or  into  the  business,  which  he  is  to  pur- 
sue. He  looks  forward  with  eager  anticipation  to  the 
time  when  his  name  shall  be  honored  among  his  fellow- 
men,  or  his  coffers  overflow  with  wealth,  or  when  he 
shall  be  the  messenger  of  rnercy,  and  win  many  from 
the  error  of  their  ways.  His  course  of  study  is  still 
plainly  marked  out.  He  does  not  waste  time  in  the 
choice  of  a  pursuit,  for  his  natural  talents,  the  habitual 
bias  of  his  mind,  or  the  wishes  of  friends,  have  already 
decided  the  question. 

Not  so  with  a  young  lady.  Having  passed  through 
the  usual  studies  at  school,  in  a  desultory  manner, — 
generally  too  desultory  to  produce  a  disciplined,  well- 
balanced  mind,  —  she  considers  her  education  finished, 
or  continues  it  without  any  special  object  in  view. 

Perhaps,  my  young  friends,  you  have  been  absent  for 
years  from  the  home  of  your  childhood ;  its  gayer  vis- 
ions have  flitted  away;  life  begins  to  assume  a  sober 
reality.  Casting  a  mournful  glance  of  retrospection,  you 
inquire, — Of  what  value  is  the  little  knowledge  acquired, 

(12) 


FORMATION    OF    CHARACTER.  13 

if  I  go  no  farther?  Like  an  armory  in  time  of  peace, 
arranged  with  much  attempt  at  display,  it  seems  brilliant 
and  useless.  You  have,  indeed,  been  collecting  the 
weapons  for  life's  warfare  ;  their  temper  is  not  yet  tried, 
but  the  strife  has  already  begun. 

This  is  the  season  for  castle-building.  How  fascinat- 
ing the  rainbow  visions  that  flit  before  a  vivid  imagina- 
tion, yet  how  dangerous  the  indulgence !  Exhausted 
with  these  wanderings  wild,  lassitude  and  ennui  succeed. 

"  Fancy  enervates,  while  it  soothes  the  heart. 

And,  while  it  dazzles,  wounds  the  mental  sight; 
To  joy  each  heightening  charm  it  can  impart, 
But  wraps  the  hour  of  woe  in  tenfold  night." 

As  their  only  resource,  many  young  ladies  in  town 
rush  with  eagerness  into  society,  drowning  reflection  in 
the  all-absorbing  career  of  fashionable  gayety,  filling  up 
its  brief  intervals  with  novel-reading.  They  whose  home 
is  in  the  country  are  disgusted  with  this  «  working- day 
world, "  and  its  plain,  good  folks.  Their  refined  edu- 
cation has  unfitted  them  for  cordial  companionship  with 
their  friends  and  neighbours,  whose  useful  common  sense 
they  cannot  appreciate,  and  whose  virtues,  unadorned 
by  the  graces  of  polished  life,  they  cannot  admire.  Too 
often,  making  no  effort  to  settle  themselves  to  the  em- 
ployments that  should  now  devolve  upon  them,  they  live 
in  a  world  of  their  own  creation,  or  find  one  equally 
well  fitted  to  their  taste  in  the  contents  of  the  nearest 
circulating  library. 

Instead  of  wasting  this  precious  period  in  fascinating 
dreams  of  future  happiness,  in  enervating  idleness,  or 
unsatisfying  gayety,  let  me  urge  upon  you,  my  kind 
readers,  the  importance  of  the  present  golden  moments. 
Sheltered  beneath  the  paternal  roof,  guarded  from  out- 
2 


14  THE  YOUNG  LADY7S  HOME. 

ward  evil  by  the  vigilance  of  love,  the  perplexing  cares 
and  overwhelming  anxieties  of  life  are  not  yet  yours. 
You  now  enjoy  the  best  possible  opportunity  to  gain  a 
knowledge  of  yourself,  your  disposition,  habits,  preju- 
dices, purposes,  acquirements,  deficiences,  principles. 
Much  may  have  been  done  for  you  by  parents  and 
teachers  ;  the  strength  of  the  foundation  they  have  laid 
will  be  tested  by 'the  superstructure,  which  must  be  built 
by  yourself.  Cheerfully,  then,  commence  that  self- 
education,  without  which  all  other  education  is  compara- 
tively useless.  Shrink  not  from  your  high  responsibili- 
ties ;  He  who  has  encompassed  you  with  them  will  give 
you  strength  for  their  fulfilment.  Has  He  not  showered 
benefits  upon  you  with  unsparing  hand  ?  Your  country, 
is  it  not  a  blessed  one?  Parents,  kindred,  friends, 
talents,  and  the  means  for  improving  them,  —  com- 
petence, wealth,  —  does  not  your  heart  overflow  with 
gratitude  to  the  Giver?  Even  now,  he  grants  you  that 
quiet  home,  where  you  may  prepare  yourself  for  another, 
with  more  tender  affections  and  more  solemn  responsi- 
bilities, and  for  another  still  beyond,  and  not  very  far 
distant,  —  a  home  in  heaven. 

Woman's  lot  may  be  deemed  a  Jowly  one,  by  those 
who  look  not  into  the  deeper  mysteries  of  human  life  ; 
who  know  not  the  silent,  resistless  influences  that  mould 
the  intellectual  and  moral  character  of  mankind.  Wo- 
man's lot  is  a  high  and  holy  one  ;  and  she  "  who  fulfils 
the  conditions  required  by  conscience  takes  the  surest 
way  of  answering  the  purposes  of  Providence."  Con- 
scientiously and  cheerfully,  then,  go  on  with  your  own 
education,  mental,  physical,  and  moral. 


CHAPTER   II. 

MENTAL  CULTURE. 


"  Past  and  future  are  the  wings, 
On  whose  support,  harmoniously  conjoined, 
Moves  the  great  spirit  of  human  knowledge." 

WORDSWORTH. 


THE  traveller,  resting  for  a  moment  upon  a  com- 
manding eminence,  views  with  interest  the  ground  he 
has  already  passed  over.  The  sunny  hills  and  green 
vales  still  smile  upon  him ;  the  rugged  pathways,  the 
fearful  precipices,  the  deep  rivers,  are  lessened  to  insig- 
nificance in  the  distance  ;  the  road  seems  short  and  easy ; 
taking  courage  from  past  success,  he  presses  onward 
with  cheerful  hope  and  renewed  energy. 

Thus,  my  young  friends,  let  us  take  a  review  of  the 
past,  and,  seeing  what  progress  you  have  already  made, 
find  encouragement  for  new  efforts  and  unfaltering  perse- 
verance. 

You  have  "  been  tutored  in  several  desperate  sci- 
ences." After  the  usual  course  of  elementary  studies, 
you  have  pursued,  to  some  extent,  the  mathematics. 
You  have  often  wondered,  while  puzzling  over  a  propo- 
sition in  geometry,  or  a  problem  in  arithmetic  or  alge- 
bra, what  possible  advantage  you  could  derive  from  it ; 
if  you  have  no  mathematical  genius,  the  task  was  borne 
with  little  patience.  The  direct  advantage  you  may 

(15) 


16 

never  perceive  ;  for  if  you  go  abroad,  you  will  not  meas- 
ure Alpine  heights,  or  if  you  stay  at  home,  you  will  not 
calculate  eclipses ;  but  indirectly,  you  will  be  benefited 
through  life,  by  that  increase  of  power  in  mind  itself 
which  this  study  has  undoubtedly  produced. 

If  it  has  unfortunately  happened,  through  your  own 
negligence,  or  that  of  your  instructers,  that  your  mind 
wants  discipline,  it  is  by  no  means  too  late  to  remedy 
the  defect.  If  you  have  leisure  which  no  other  duty 
imperiously  demands,  go  through  with  the  first  six  books 
of  Euclid's  Geometry,  by  yourself,  if  possible ;  if  not, 
with  the  aid  of  a  friend  or  teacher.  What  you  submit 
to  at  first  as  a  task,  may  soon  become  a  source  of  pleas- 
ure ;  whenever  it  does  so,  the  point  is  gained  ;  you  have 
learned  to  fix  the  attention,  and  to  reason  with  clearness 
and  precision. 

Mental  philosophy.  Doubtless  this  has  proved  an 
agreeable  study ;  if  only  learned,  however,  from  a  mea- 
gre class-book,  it  is  not  sufficient.  Read  Stewart's 
Philosophy,  and  make  a  careful  analysis  of  it.  Let  me 
recommend  another  very  useful  little  work,  now  some- 
what out  of  fashion,  Watts  on  the  Mind.  This  still  re- 
tains its  place  in  some  seminaries,  but  in  general  has 
been  supplanted  by  more  recent  publications.  Your 
main  object  at  this  time  must  be,  to  acquire  a  knowledge 
of  your  own  mind,  its  capabilities  and  wants ;  make  a 
thorough  investigation,  take  its  "  gauge  and  dimensions." 

Acuteness  of  sensation  and  quickness  of  perception 
depend  originally  upon  organization ;  yet  even  these  may 
be  greatly  increased,  as  we  see  in  the  case  of  the  blind, 
whose  other  senses  become  so  vigilant  and  discriminat- 
ing. Attention,  close,  habitual  attention,  stimulated  by 


MENTAL,    CULTURE.  17 

necessity,  thus  increases  the  blind  man's  sense  of  hear- 
ing, of  touch,  and  even  of  smelling  -and  taste.  Atten- 
tion is  a  faculty  much  under  the  control  of  the  will ; 
upon  its  careful  cultivation,  the  concept! ve  faculty,  the 
memory,  and  the  judgment  all  depend.  To  ascertain 
whether  this  faculty  has  been  favorably  developed,  we 
must  inquire  what  are  our  habits  of  reading,  of  study, 
and  of  thought. 

The  hasty,  indiscriminating  perusal  of  the  host  of  an- 
nuals, scrap-books,  and  pamphlets  that  crowd  the  centre- 
table  not  only  vitiates  taste,  but  is  destructive  to  atten- 
tion. A  literary  souvenir  may  be  taken  up  during  a 
morning  call,  if  your  friend  keep  you  waiting  half  an 
hour  or  more,  while  she  makes  her  elaborate  toilet,  and 
if  your  habits  of  attention  are  good,  the  time  will  not  be 
entirely  lost ;  an  engraving,  or  a  flower,  may  afford  sub- 
jects for  attention  and  reflection,  and  even  well-chosen 
furniture  and  its  neat  and  tasteful  arrangement  may  give 
you  a  lesson  in  housekeeping.  To  the  well-regulated 
mind  no  time  nor  place  can  be  destitute  of  suggestive 
objects  of  profitable  thought.  But  to  return  to  reading. 
Does  your  mind  fix  with  a  firm  grasp  upon  every  leading 
thought  ?  Can  you  become  so  completely  absorbed  as 
to  be  unconscious,  page  after  page,  whether  you  are  in 
the  body  or  out  of  the  body  ?  And  this,  not  in  the  en- 
trancing pages  of  a  novel  alone,  but  in  history  or  philos- 
ophy. Or  do  you  revel  in  fairy-land,  while  your  eyes 
glide  over  the  pages  without  conveying  a  single  idea  to 
the  mind  ?  The  story  has  often  been  told  of  the  mis- 
chievous wag,  who  moved  back  from  day  to  day  his 
friend's  mark  in  the  book  he  was  reading.  The  poor 
fellow,  opening  honestly  at  the  mark  each  day,  read  over 


18 

and  over  the  same  pages,  till  at  length,  a  gleam  of  recol- 
lection coming  over  his  mind,  he  exclaimed,  —  "  Well, 
it  really  seems  to  me,  as  if,  somehow,  I  must  have  read 
this  before." 

In  a  moral  point  of  view,  attention  to  what  is  passing 
around  us  is  a  duty.  How  often  may  we  deceive  others 
in  matters  of  consequence,  if  we  walk  blindfolded  through 
the  world.  How  complicated,  how  perplexed,  is  the 
narrative  of  a  heedless  person,  even  when  he  is  describ- 
ing an  event  of  which  he  has  been  an  eyewitness !  It  is 
next  to  impossible  for  such  an  one  to  carry  on  a  clear, 
consecutive  train  of  thought.  Truth  is  often  violated, 
or,  at  least,  the  veracity  of  conversation  is  doubtful, 
where  this  defect  exists  in  a  high  degree.  Like  the 
dubious  man  described  by  Cowper, — 

"  His  evidence,  if  he  were  called  by  law 
To  swear  to  some  enormity  he  saw, 
For  want  of  prominence  and  just  relief, 
Would  hang  an  honest  man,  and  save  the  thief 
Useless  in  him  alike  both  brain  and  speech, 
Fate  having  placed  all  truth  above  his  reach ; 
His  ambiguities  his  total  sum, 
He  might  as  well  be  blind,  and  deaf,  and  dumb." 

The  faculty  of  attention  is  often  impaired  for  life  by 
habitual  reverie.  When  you  are  employed  with  your 
needle,  fair  reader,  you  are  often  building  chateaux  d'Es- 
pagne,  and  may  think  it  hard  to  be  denied  the  delicious 
enjoyment.  The  trifling  mechanical  employment  of  the 
fingers  is  a  gentle  promoter  of  thought,  and  many  an 
hour  may  pass  most  profitably  to  mind  in  this  manner, 
if  your  thoughts  are  rightly  directed.  Recall  some  book 
that  you  have  studied  ;  analyze  it ;  compare  it  with  what- 
ever else  you  may  have  read  on  the  same  subject.  Or  take 


MENTAL    CULTURE.  19 

some  subject  of  practical  moment,  —  contentment,  for 
example ;  arrange  in  order  all  the  reasons  you  have  for 
it,  count  over  the  rich  blessings  that  cluster  around  you, 
until  your  heart  overflows  with  gratitude. 

Attention,  we  know,  must  form  the  basis  of  memory ; 
difference  of  taste  and  sentiment  produces  difference  of 
association  of  ideas. 

Three  young  ladies  may  have  studied  the  history  of 
the  reign  of  Elizabeth  of  England.  The  manners, 
dress,  and  fashion  of  those  days  interested  the  first. 
The  second  dwelt  with  delight  upon  the  character  of 
the  men  of  genius  who  immortalized  that  reign.  While 
the  third  was  most  attracted  by  the  character  and  con- 
duct of  Elizabeth  herself.  Some  one  asks  in  their 
presence,  —  "Will  the  reign  of  Victoria  rival  that  of 
Elizabeth  ?"  The  picture  before  the  mind's  eye  of  the 
first  is  the  chivalric  cavalier,  with  silken  suit  and  em- 
broidered cloak,  bowing  to  his  lady-love,  who  rejoiceth 
in  broad  ruff  and  stiff  brocade,  assaulting  her  heart  with 
euphuistic  compliment.  The  second  asks,  Where  is  the 
Burleigh  to  guide  the  counsels,  or  the  Spenser  and  the 
Shakspeare  to  glorify  this  reign  ?  The  third  immediately 
draws  a  parallel  between  the  education  and  early  char- 
acter of  the  royal  maidens.  And  so  far  all  is  well ;  each 
follows  her  taste,  but  her  attention  has  probably  been  too 
exclusively  fixed  upon  her  favorite  subjects.  The  first, 
when  asked  about  Sir  Anthony  Cook  and  his  daughters, 
does  not  remember  that  such  persons  existed.  The 
second  might  laugh  outright,  if  asked  how  Elizabeth  was 
apparelled,  and  how  many  dresses  she  had  in  her  ward- 
robe at  the  time  of  her  death.  Inquire  of  the  third 
how  the  Spanish  Armada  was  arranged  for  battle,  she 


20 

remembers  nothing  in  connection  with  it,  excepting  the 
royal  heroine  riding  down  the  ranks  and  haranguing  the 
soldiers.  If  your  attention  has  been  thus  despotically 
ruled  by  your  peculiar  tastes  and  partialities,  it  is  high 
time  to  correct  the  error.  Read  first  the  index  of  a 
book,  and  know  what  are  the  topics  of  most  practical 
value ;  what  knowledge  it  contains  of  which  you  are 
ignorant ;  what  that  you  ought  to  be  most  anxious  to  fix 
in  memory.  Mark  such  subjects  with  your  pencil,  and 
in  the  course  of  reading  rivet  your  attention  upon  them. 
Absence  of  mind  has  been  so  long  considered  a  mark 
of  genius,  that  few  take  pains  to  avoid  the  pernicious 
habit.  It  is  one  of  the  infirmities  of  great  minds,  and 
is  almost  unpardonable,  even  when  associated  with  the 
overpowering  splendor  of  superior  talents.  It  is  no  pos- 
itive proof  of  genius  ;  the  weakest  minds  are  prone  to 
extreme  absence.  This  is  very  different  from  the  power 
of  abstraction,  which  belongs,  in  a  preeminent  degree, 
only  to  minds  of  the  highest  order.  It  is  peculiarly  in- 
convenient for  women  to  be  absent-minded.  The  thou- 
sand and  one  daily  cares  and  employments,  which  must 
each  receive  due  attention  in  a  well-ordered  household, 
render  it  necessary  for  a  woman  to  have  her  thoughts 
always  about  her.  Suppose,  at  the  head  of  her  dinner- 
table,  she  falls  into  a  fit  of  absence ;  —  her  guests  are 
neglected,  the  servants  are  at  fault,  and  make  dozens  of 
blunders  in  consequence  of  hers,  and  when  at  last  she 
comes  back  again,  she  resumes  the  conversation  where 
it  had  been  dropped,  ten  minutes  before,  much  to  the 
amusement  or  embarrassment  of  her  guests,  and  her  own 
and  her  husband's  mortification.  An  absent-minded 
woman  cannot  be  uniformly  polite.  She  may  be  kindly 


MENTAL    CULTURE.  21 

disposed  and  perfectly  well-bred,  yet  she  will  pass  her 
most  intimate  friend  in  the  street  without  speaking  to 
her ;  take  the  most  convenient  and  comfortable  seat  at  a 
neighbour's  fireside,  appropriated  to  an  aged  and  infirm 
member  of  the  family;  fix  her  eyes  in  church  upon 
some  one  until  the  person  is  exceedingly  annoyed  and 
embarrassed ;  interrupt  conversation  by  remarks  entirely 
irrelevant,  and  commit  many  other  peccadilloes  while 
under  this  temporary  alienation  of  mind,  which  would 
shock  her,  at  another  time,  as  offending  against  the  plain- 
est rules  of  propriety. 


CHAPTER  III. 

MEMORY. 

"When  I  plant  a  choice  flower  in  a  fertile  soil,  I  see  nature  pres- 
ently to  thrust  up  with  it  the  stinging  nettle,  the  poisonous  hemlock, 
the  drowsy  poppy,  and  many  such  noisome  weeds,  which  will  either 
choke  my  plant,  with  excluding  the  sun,  or  divert  its  nourishment  to 
themselves;  but  if  I  weed  but  these  at  first,  my  flower  thrives  to  its 
goodness  and  glory." — WARWICK. 

MEMORY,  glorious  treasure-house  of  mind!  Earth, 
with  all  its  pageantry,  shall  pass  away,  but  memory  shall 
survive,  endless  source  of  bliss  or  woe.  We  cannot 
realize  the  full  import  of  this  truth;  if  we  could,  very 
different  would  be  our  pursuits. 

Locke  says,  —  "  Memory  is  of  so  great  moment,  that 
where  it  is  wanting  all  the  rest  of  our  faculties  are  in  a 
great  measure  useless ;  and  we,  in  our  thoughts,  reason- 
ings, and  knowledge,  could  not  proceed  beyond  present 
objects,  were  it  not  for  the  assistance  of  memory,  where- 
in there  may  be  two  defects ;  first,  that  it  loses  the  idea 
quite,  and  so  far  it  produces  perfect  ignorance.  Sec- 
ondly, that  it  moves  slowly,  and  retrieves  not  the  ideas 
that  it  has,  and  are  laid  up  in  store,  quick  enough  to 
serve  the  mind  upon  occasions.  This,  if  it  be  in  a  great 
degree,  is  stupidity ;  and  he  who,  •  jrough  this  default  in 
his  memory,  has  not  the  ideas  that  are  really  preserved 
there,  ready  at  hand  when  need  and  occasion  call  for 
them,  were  almost  as  good  be  without  them  quite,  since 
they  serve  him  to  very  little  purpose." 

The  vague  ideas  in  a  weak  mind  are  at  best  "  the  base 

(22) 


MEMORY.  23 

less  fabric  of  a  vision,"  and  time's  effacing  finger  soon 
obliterates  them.  In  order  that  an  idea  should  be  re- 
tained, it  is  necessary  that  the  attention  should  be  fixed 
upon  it,  and  the  conception  of  it  perfect.  We  are  not 
aware  how  many  of  the  thoughts  of  others,  that  we  have 
labored  to  fix  in  our  minds,  passed  rapidly  away  because 
we  did  not  perfectly  understand  them ;  the  conception 
of  them  was  incomplete,  yet,  as  we  had  the  shadow  of 
an  idea,  we  were  satisfied ;  it  was  too  much  trouble  to 
examine  it  thoroughly  until  it  assumed  a  definite  form, 
and  would  thus  have  retained  a  "  local  habitation"  in 
memory.  Instructers  cannot  know  whether  children 
perfectly  comprehend  what  they  learn.  We  probably  all 
remember  having  recited  lessons  very  glibly,  and  having 
received  the  commendations  of  our  teacher,  when  we 
knew  no  more  of  the  true  meaning  of  the  lesson  than  if 
it  had  been  in  Hebrew.  You  are  now  old  enough  to  be 
emancipated  from  the  rote-system,  —  that  thraldom  of 
mind  which  enchains  all  its  faculties,  and  so  weakens  them 
that  for  a  long  time  they  cannot  act  with  natural  energy. 

Minds  of  much  quickness  and  vivacity  are  prone  to 
take  ideas  in  this  vague,  confused  manner,  and  all  their 
knowledge,  while  they  do  so,  will  be  superficial.  They 
should  check  their  too  rapid  thoughts  until  they  become 
distinct  and  true,  and  patiently  go  over  a  subject  until 
they  are  certain  the  conception  of  it  is  complete. 

Stewart  tells  us,  the  qualities  of  a  good  memory  are 
susceptibility,  retentiveness,  and  readiness. 

By  the  first,  he  means  easiness  of  impression ;  as  the 
wax  yields  to  the.  signet,  so  should  the  mind  take  the 
perfect  impress  of  every  subject ;  but  not  like  the  wax, 
which  so  easily  melts  away,  leaving  not  a  trace  ;  the  mind 
should  retain  its  images  like  sculptor's  marble,  and, 


24 

£ 

moreover,  should  be  quick  to  produce  them  when  they 
are  needed. 

Classification  is  a  powerful  auxiliary  to  memory.  In 
a  well-ordered  mind,  every  new  fact  is  immediately  re- 
ferred to  its  proper  place,  just  as  in  botany  a  newly-dis- 
covered plant  is  set  down  in  its  class  and  order ;  and  if 
the  genus  is  already  known,  it  forms  a  new  species  under 
it.  If  you  once  acquire  the  habit  of  placing  every  idea 
in  its  category,  a  chain  will  be  formed  over  which  mem- 
ory will  pass  like  electricity. 

Look  into  your  own  mind,  and  see  if  every  thing  lies 
there  in  a  heterogeneous  mass.  It  may  appear,  at  first 
sight,  as  does  this  terrene  sphere  to  uninquisitive  igno- 
rance, —  a  mass  of  rough  materials,  thrown  together 
without  order  or  arrangement.  The  scientific  geologist 
reduces  the  whole  to  order.  He  discovers  the  regular 
strata  of  rocks  covering  the  globe,  and  demonstrates  the 
uniformity  of  the  series,  from  the  imperishable  granite  to 
the  crumbling  sandstone  upon  its  surface.  Lay  down 
first  principles,  as  the  granite  foundation  upon  which  you 
are  to  build  the  whole  superstructure  of  knowledge. 

Habits  of  correct  association  of  ideas  aid  memory. 
It  is  not  our  intention  to  go  into  the  depths  of  mental 
philosophy,  but  only  to  suggest  a  few  practical  hints,  in 
simple  language,  that  you  may  be  induced  to  pursue  the 
subject  much  farther. 

Ideas  are  so  associated  in  the  mind,  that  the  presence 
of  one  suggests  another. 

The  associations  in  common,  uninstructed  minds  are 
those  of  time  and  place,  resemblance  and  contrast.  The 
following  couplet  of  Swift's  may  serve  as  an  illustration 
of  the  first;  others,  from  Shakspeare,  will  undoubtedly 
occur  to  your  minds. 


MEMORY. 


25 


4  Yes,"  says  the  steward,  "  I  remember  when  I  was  at  my  Lady 

Shrewsbury's, 
Such  a  thing  as  this  happened,  just  about  the  time  of  gooseberries  /" 

More  philosophical  associations  are  those  of  cause  and 
effect,  premises  and  conclusion,  genus  and  species,  &c. 

To  assist  memory,  and  to  form  a  habit  of  philosophi- 
cal association,  it  is  of  use  to  arrange  a  Mnemonica,  or 
commonplace-book,  and  to  write  down  under  the  sepa- 
rate divisions  what  you  most  wish  to  retain.  All  know- 
ledge may  be  said  to  consist  of  FACTS,  SENTIMENTS, 
and  PRINCIPLES  ;  and  this  may  furnish  a  simple  classifi- 
cation for  such  a  Mnemonica.  Divide  a  blank  book  into 
three  parts,  reserving  one  half  or  two  thirds  for  the  first 
part,  and  the  remainder  divide  equally  for  the  two  after 
parts. 

I.  FACTS. 

Allow  two  or  three  pages  under  this  division  for  eatu 
of  the  following  subdivisions;  namely, — 

1.  RELIGIOUS. 

2.  POLITICAL. 

3.  LITERART. 

4.  SCIENTIFIC. 

5.  PRACTICAL. 

6.  MILITARY. 

These  may  be  extended  much  farther. 

II.  PRINCIPLES. 

1.  AXIOMS. 

2.  GENERAL  TRUTHS. 

3.  CAUSE,  OR  ORIGIN. 

4.  ELEMENTS,  OR  CONSTITUENT  PA.BTS. 

III.  SENTIMENTS. 

1.  RELIGIOUS. 

2.  MORAL. 

3.  POETICAL. 

3 


26 

Such  a  Mnemonica  will  be  found  very  useful ;  but 
do  not  rely  too  much  and  too  long  upon  it.  Memory  is 
like  a  true  friend,  —  the  more  you  confide  in  her  the 
better  she  serves  you. 

Various  systems  of  artificial  memory  have  been  in- 
vented, but  they  are  of  doubtful  utility.  It  is  far  better 
to  form  habits  of  correct  classification,  than  to  depend 
upon  the  arbitrary  and  often  ridiculous  associations  of 
systems  of  mnemonics.  Feinagle's  system  has  been 
one  of  the  most  celebrated.  The  foundation  of  it  is  in 
locality,  or  the  association  of  place.  He  divides  a  room 
into  compartments ;  sides,  ceiling,  and  floor  are  each 
divided  into  nine  parts.  "  In  order  to  remember  a  se- 
ries of  words,  they  are  put  in  the  several  squares  or 
places,  and  the  recollection  of  them  is  assisted  by  asso- 
ciating some  idea  of  relation  between  the  objects  and 
their  situation ;  and,  as  we  find  by  experience  that 
whatever  is  ludicrous  is  calculated  to  make  a  strong  im- 
pression upon  the  mind,  the  more  ridiculous  the  associ- 
ation the  better.  To  illustrate  this  idea,  Mr.  Feinagle 
places  the  names  of  certain  sensible  objects  in  the  differ- 
ent compartments,  and  connects  the  ideas  of  their  images 
by  some  story,  so  as  to  make  it  almost  impossible  to 
forget  the  order  in  which  they  are  arranged."  All  this 
complicated  apparatus  is  first  to  be  fixed  in  the  memory. 
In  the  first  square  you  have  a  pump,  perhaps ;  in  the 
second,  a  monkey;  in  the  third,  a  fool's  cap,  and  so  on. 
If  you  wish  to  remember  a  sermon,  enter  into  your 
mnemonical  room,  —  hang  the  first  division  of  the  dis- 
course upon  the  pump-handle,  —  place  the  second  on 
the  monkey's  head,  —  and  the  third  in  the  fool's  cap. 
By  these  arbitrary  and  ludicrous  associations,  you  are  to 


MEMORY.  27 

fix  them  in  memory.  Surely,  there  can  be  no  real  utility 
in  such  an  absurd  system. 

The  memory  of  words  and  the  memory  of  ideas 
are  very  different.  Numerous  instances  of  wonderful 
memory  of  the  first  kind  are  given.  Seneca,  in  his 
youth,  could  repeat  two  thousand  words,  in  their  order, 
after  hearing  them  once.  Joseph  Scaliger  could  re- 
peat the  contents  of  whole  books  in  foreign  languages. 
Kl  op  stock,  the  German  poet,  when  a  boy  at  school, 
could  recite  the  whole  of  Homer's  Iliad.  An  English- 
man once  came  to  Frederick  the  Great,  of  Prussia,  for 
the  purpose  of  giving  him  some  specimens  of  his  extra- 
ordinary memory.  Frederick  sent  for  Voltaire,  who 
read  to  his  Majesty  a  pretty  long  poem,  which  he  had 
just  finished.  The  Englishman  was  concealed  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  be  able  to  hear  every  word  that  was  said. 
When  Voltaire  had  concluded,  Frederick  remarked  thai 
a  foreign  gentleman  would  immediately  repeat  the  same 
poem  to  him,  and  therefore  it  could  not  be  original. 
Voltaire  listened  with  astonishment  to  the  stranger's 
declamation,  and  then  fell  into  a  great  rage  and  tore  the 
manuscript  in  pieces.  When  Frederick  informed  him 
of  his  mistake,  the  Englishman  again  dictated  to  Voltaire 
the  whole  poem,  with  perfect  correctness  ! 

It  is  impossible  for  us  now  to  discover  whether  these 
efforts  were  owing  to  a  naturally  strong  memory,  which 
had  been  habitually  exercised,  or  to  artificial  memory  : 
probably  to  the  former. 

The  memory  of  events  and  of  ideas  may  be  good, 
when  that  of  words  is  very  defective.  Both  should  be 
cultivated  in  due  proportion.  It  is  better  to  enrich  the 
memory  with  a  fine  sentiment,  or  a  beautiful  piece  of 
poetry,  than  to  doom  it  to  banishment  in  your  portfolio. 


28  THE  YOUNG  LADYJS  HOME. 

which  is,  generally,  only  one  way  of  consigning  it  to 
oblivion. 

It  has  been  often  asserted,  that  a  very  superior  memory 
is  seldom  found  in  connection  with  invention,  or  with 
uncommon  judgment.  A  memory  of  words  may  not  be ; 
but  that  which  depends  upon  powerful  conception,  or 
philosophical  arrangement,  may  be  very  tenacious  of 
ideas,  even  where  there  is  genius  of  the  highest  order,  or 
the  most  consummate  judgment. 

"  Maria  Gaetana  Agnesi,  a  lady  of  extraordinary 
genius  and  most  extensive  acquirements,  was  bom  at 
Milan,  on  the  15th  of  May,  1718.  Her  father,  Pietro 
Agnesi,  of  Milan,  was  royal  feudatory  of  Monteveglia 
and  its  dependencies ;  and  being  a  man  of  some  rank 
and  consequence,  he  was  disposed,  from  paternal  affec- 
tion, to  provide  suitably  for  the  education  of  his  infant 
daughter,  who  gave  the  most  striking  indications  of  tal- 
ent. From  her  tenderest  years  she  discovered  a  won- 
derful aptness,  and  a  vehement  desire  for  acquiring  lan- 
guages. Under  the  direction  of  proper  masters,  she 
studied  at  the  very  same  time  the  Latin  and  Greek,  the 
French  and  German;  and  while  the  rapidity  of  her 
progress  excited  universal  astonishment,  such  were  the 
prodigious  powers  of  her  memory  that  she  could  easily 
pursue  these  diversified  objects  without  feeling  the  small- 
est degree  of  confusion.  When  yet  scarcely  nine  years 
old,  this  surprising  child  delivered  a  Latin  oration,  to 
prove  that  the  cultivation  of  letters  is  not  inconsistent 
with  the  female  character,  before  an  assembly  of  learned 
persons,  invited  to  her  father's  house. 

"  At  the  age  of  eleven,  the  young  Agnesi  could,  not 
only  read  Greek,  and  translate  it  instantly  into  Latin,  but 
..ould  even  speak  that  refined  language,  and  with  the  same 


MEMORY.  529 

ease  and  fluency  as  if  it  had  been  her  native  tongue. 
Nor  did  these  acquisitions  absorb  her  whole  attention ; 
a  nobler  field  was  opened  to  the  exercise  of  her  mental 
faculties.  She  now  began  to  read  Euclid's  Elements, 
and  proceeded  in  algebra  fcs  far  as  quadratic  equations. 
Thus  prepared,  she  advanced  with  ardor  to  the  study  of 
natural  philosophy ;  but,  not  content  with  the  sober 
truths  there  unfolded,  she  soared  to  the  heights  of  met- 
aphysics, and  engaged  in  the  most  abstruse  and  intricate 
disquisitions  of  that  contentious  science. 

"  After  the  young  lady  had  attained  the  age  of  four- 
teen, her  father,  anxious  to  forward  her  ardor  for  im- 
provement, and  willing  to  gratify  her  ambition  for  literary 
distinction,  invited  occasionally  to  his  house  a  number 
of  persons,  the  most  respectable  in  Milan  by  their  rank 
and  learning.  In  the  midst  of  this  grave  auditory, 
Donna  Agnesi  made  her  appearance,  and  without  re- 
signing the  native  delicacy  of  her  sex,  she  maintained  a 
new  thesis  on  various  difficult  parts  of  philosophy,  and 
handled  the  arguments  with  such  dexterity  and  com- 
manding eloquence,  as  singly  to  vanquish  every  oppo- 
nent that  entered  the  field  of  controversy.  These  dis- 
putations were  carried  on,  all  of  them,  in  the  Latin  lan- 
guage, which  she  spoke  with  the  utmost  ease,  purity,  and 
copious  elegance.  Every  thing  conspired  to  heighten 
the  impression  produced  on  the  admiring  spectators. 
In  the  full  bloom  of  youth,  her  person  agreeable,  her 
manner  graceful,  an  air  of  gentleness  and  modesty  gave 
irresistible  charms  to  her  whole  demeanour. 

"Such,  for  several  years,  was  the  great  theatre  of 
her  glory.  But  having  nearly  completed  the  circle  of 
philosophy,  and  exhausted  the  chief  topics  of  discus- 
sion, she  resolved  at  length  to  close  that  career  with  a 
3* 


30  THE  YOUNG  LADY?S  HOME. 

solemnity  suitable  to  the  occasion.  In  the  year  1738, 
at  the  age  of  twenty,  Agnesi  made  her  last  brilliant  dis- 
play before  an  august  assembly,  composed  of  the  most 
learned  and  illustrious  of  the  Milanese  nobility,  the 
senators,  and  foreign  ministers,  with  the  most  distin- 
guished professors  in  all  the  branches  of  science  and 
literature.  The  substance  of  these  philosophical  con- 
ferences was  afterwards  published  in  a  quarto  volume, 
in  Latin. 

"  Agnesi  now  bent  her  whole  attention  to  the  culture 
of  mathematics ;  and  without  guide  or  assistance,  she 
composed  a  very  useful  commentary  on  L'Hospital's 
Conic  Sections,  which  is  said  still  to  exist  in  manuscript. 
In  the  sublimer  departments  of  that  science,  her  studies 
were  directed  by  the  matured  experience  of  Rampinelli, 
Professor  of  Mathematics  in  the  University  of  Pisa; 
but  she  soon  gave  proofs  of  her  amazing  proficiency  in 
digesting  a  complete  body  of  the  modern  calculus. 
This  excellent  work,  entitled,  "Analytical  Institutions 
for  the  Use  of  the  Italian  Youth,"  appeared  in  1748,  in 
two  volumes,  quarto,  and  was  highly  esteemed  by  the 
judges,  and  justly  regarded  as  exhibiting  the  fullest  and 
clearest  views  of  the  state  of  the  science  at  that  period. 
She  was,  in  consequence,  elected  by  acclamation  a 
member  of  the  Institute  of  Science  of  Bologna ;  and 
the  Pope  farther  conferred  on  her  the  title  of  Professor 
of  Mathematics  in  the  University  of  that  city. 

"  But  Agnesi  was  already  sated  with  literary  fame. 
That  sun  which  in  its  ascent  had  shone  forth  with  such 
dazzling  radiance  was,  through  the  rest  of  its  course, 
shrouded  in  clouds  and  darkness.  The  fever  of  genius 
had  preyed  on  her  rnind,  and  the  high  fit  of  excitement 
was  quickly  succeeded  by  a  hopeless  depression  of 


MEMORY.  31 

spirits.  She  repelled  the  seductions  of  human  learning, 
and  abandoned  for  ever  her  favorite  mathematical  pur- 
suits. Renouncing  the  vanities  of  this  world,  she  with- 
drew from  society,-embraced  a  life  of  religious  seclusion, 
and  sunk  by  degrees  into  the  languor  of  religious  melan- 
choly. She  studied  nothing  but  Hebrew,  and  the  rhap- 
sodies of  the  Greek  fathers  of  the  Church.  For  up- 
wards of  twenty  years  she  denied  all  access  to  strangers. 
Indulging  that  gloomy  temper,  she  retired  into  a  con- 
vent, and  assumed  the  habit  of  a  blue  nun.  She  sought 
to  forget  the  world,  and  was  herself  forgotten." 

<!  And  wliat,  alas  !  is  human  fame 

To  woman's  heart?     A  cold,  vain  word, 
Impalpable  as  air,  —  a  name 

For  feeling  blighted,  hope  deferred, 
Visions  o'ershaded,  thoughts  that  steal 

The  secrets  of  the  heart  away ; 
For  all  that  lofty  souls  may  feel 

When,  in  their  prison-house  of  clay, 
They  half  reveal  their  holier  light, 

And  cast  abroad  the  splendor  given 
To  burn  but  in  the  Giver's  sight, 

Upon  the  altar-shrine  of  heaven." 

Let  us  hope  that  Maria  Agnesi,  with  her  wonderful 
talents,  was  not  left  without  the  consolations  of  true  re- 
ligion. Let  us  believe,  that  during  that  long  and  gloomy 
seclusion,  there  were  occasional  bright  revealings  of  a 
world  of  purity  and  happiness,  and  that  her  clear  and 
comprehensive  mind,  though  shackled  by  an  absurd 
creed,  shook  off  at  last  its  trammels,  and  rejoiced  in  the 
glorious  liberty  of  a  true  follower  of  Jesus  Christ. 

To  this  bright  but  melancholy  example  of  genius,  we 
add  one  from  our  own  age  and  country,  far  more  lovely 
and  attractive.  One  "  early  loved  and  early  lost" ; 
whose  memory  has  been  embalmed  in  a  sweet  memorial, 
written  by  a  young  lady,  her  intimate  friend.  The  close 


32 

of  her  life  furnishes  a  striking  contrast  to  that  of  the 
gifted  Maria  Agnesi. 

"Hers  was.  a  mind  entirely  unlike  that  of  common 
characters,  peculiarly  individual  in  its  nature.  It  was  a 
clear,  vigorous,  and  well-balanced  mind.  There  was 
great  maturity,  and  independence,  and  discrimination,  in 
her  habits  of  thought ;  and  an  enlargement  of  views, 
that  led  her  to  examine  a  subject  in  all  its  bearings. 

"  She  had  true  poetic  genius,  and  early  manifested  it. 
The  world  in  which  her  imagination  lived  was  altogether 
a  different  place  from  that  inhabited  by  common  minds, 
for  it  was  peopled  with  the  bright  and  beautiful  creations 
of  her  own  genius. 

"  But,  notwithstanding  her  poetic  temperament,  she 
applied  herself  closely  to  study,  and  made  high  and  va- 
rious attainments.  And  she  preferred  those  studies  that 
taxed  her  powers  to  the  utmost,  and  required  the  deepest 
reflection. 

"  Some  have  supposed  that  she  studied  so  hard  as  to 
injure  her  health  ;  her  friends  consider  this  a  mistake. 
She  almost  invariably  exercised  great  judgment  and  dis- 
cretion in  regard  to  the^amount  of  time  she  devoted  to 
study.  She  did  not  spend  as  great  a  proportion  of  each 
day  in  study  as  many  scholars  do ;  but  she  had  an  un- 
common power  of  abstraction,  and  when  she  studied 
she  applied  herself  to  it  closely  and  in  earnest. 

"  She  never  entertained  that  absurd  notion,  which  is 
too  prevalent  among  young  ladies, — that  her  education 
was  completed  when  she  left  school.  She  felt  then  that 
she  had  taken  only  the  first  step  in  the  pursuit  of  know- 
ledge, and  saw  before  her  with  delight 

'The  varied  fields  of  science,  ever  new, 
Opening,  and  wider  opening  to  the  view,' — 


MEMORY.  33 

and  she  went  on,  through  life,  with  unwearied  per- 
severance, in  the  acquisition  of  valuable  knowledge. 
Mathematics  and  mental  philosophy  were  decidedly  her 
favorite  studies  before  she  left  school.  In  mathematics 
she  had  pursued  a  very  thorough  course  through  trigo- 
nometry. In  mental  philosophy,  she  had  studied  with 
care  the  works  of  Stewart  and  Brown,  and  in  the  latter 
part  of  her  life,  Edwards  on  the  Will  and  some  of  the 
works  of  Coleridge.  From  the  last-mentioned  author 
she  thought  she  derived  much  more  benefit  than  from 
either  of  the  others.  But  her  study  of  mental  philoso- 
phy did  not  consist  merely  in  collecting  various  opinions 
and  theories  from  books.  It  was  rather  deep  and  pa- 
tient thought,  enlivened  occasionally  by  an  animated 
discussion  of  difficult  points  with  some  intimate  friend. 

"  She  had  a  good  knowledge  of  Latin,  and  had  read 
numerous  authors  in  that  language.  Those  who  are  best 
qualified  to  judge,  spoke  of  her  knowledge  of  Greek  as 
being  considerable.  She  had  studied  with  great  interest 
a  part  of  the  works  of  Xenophon  and  Homer,  one  vol- 
ume of  Plato,  and  some  parts  of  the  New  Testament. 
She  read  French  with  great  ease.  During  the  last  few 
months  of  her  life,  she  acquired  some  knowledge  of 
German,  and  was  greatly  interested  in  and  delighted 
with  this  language.  She  said,  in  a  letter  to  a  friend, 
written  shortly  after  she  commenced  the  study,  — « I 
do  not  know  why  it  is,  but  the  German  words  are  com- 
pletely fixed  in  my  memory.  Indeed,  there  is  some- 
thing in  the  German  that  fastens  "itself  upon  the  mind 
strangely." 

"  She  occasionally  had  some  doubts  in  regard  to  the 
utility  of  her  studies  ;  and,  once  or  twice,  thought  of 
giving  them  up  partially  or  entirely. 


34 

"  These  scruples  soon  vanished.  She  thus  writes  to 
her  friend  :  —  «  You  will  smile  when  I  tell  you  that  I 
have  commenced  studying  again,  with  great  zeal.  I 
have  discovered  one  thing,  at  least ;  that  is,  that  some 
hard  study,  every  day,  is  absolutely  necessary  for  my 
health  ;  and  while  I  study  Phaedo  and  the  Tusculan 
Questions,  I  think  my  conscience  will  not  trouble  me 
any  more  on  that  score.  The  more  I  read  Plato  and 
Cicero,  the  more  I  am  convinced  that  I  may  study  them 
with  profit.' 

"  In  another  letter  she  writes  :  —  c  I  lately  met  with 
a  sentiment,  in  a  piece  of  Dana's,  which  I  know  will 
delight  you  ;  at  least  if  you  dwell  upon  it  a  moment  or 
two,  for  its  most  obvious  meaning  is  not  the  most  strik- 
ing,— "  Religion  ought  to  be  the  home  of  our  thoughts." 
Is  it  not  beautiful  ?  How  like  the  sweet  soothing  feel- 
ings, which  fill  our  hearts  when  we  return  to  our  homes, 
are  those  which  steal  upon  us  with  the  thoughts  of  the 
love  and  mercy  of  our  Almighty  Father!  There  is  rest 
and  peace  for  the  weary  mind,  and  balm  and  warmth  for 
the  chilled  and  wounded  affections.'  It  was  but  a  few 
weeks  after  she  wrote  this,  that  she  went  to  dwell  for 
ever  among  the  invisible  realities  that  had  long  been  the 
home  of  her  thoughts. 

"  So  should  we  live,  that  every  hour 
May  die  as  dies  the  natural  flower, — 
A  self-reviving  thing  of  power; 

"That  every  thought  and  every  deed 
May  hold  within  itself  the  seed 
Of  future  good  and  future  meed." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

IMAGINATION. 

"Not  willingly  in  his  presence  would  I  behold  the  sun  setting  be- 
hind out  mountains,  or  listen  to  a  tale  of  distress  or  virtue;  I  should 
be  ashamed  of  the  quiet  tear  on  my  own  cheek.'; — COLERIDGE. 

THE  word  Imagination  has  been  perverted  from  its 
true  signification,  and  used  in  various  others.  In  com- 
mon parlance,  it  stands  for  memory  and  for  conception. 
For  example :  "I  cannot  imagine  what  you  said  to  me 
yesterday,"  for,  "I  cannot  remember."  "I  have  not 
seen  my  most  intimate  friend  for  a  year,  and  cannot  im- 
agine how  she  looks,"  meaning,  "I  cannot  conceive," 
&c.  We  say,  too,  when  we  are  lost  in  thought,  that 
something  occupies  our  imagination,  when  it  is  in  fact 
an  act  of  reflection.  Metaphysicians  describe  imagina- 
tion as  that  power  of  the  mind  which  is  exerted  in  the 
selection  and  formation  of  new  combinations  of  ideas. 
When  we  summon  at  will  any  particular  class  of  ideas, 
it  is  sometimes  called  Fancy.  A  creative  imagination 
must  have  the  aid  of  conception,  judgment,  abstraction, 
and  taste.  It  is  the  power  that  inspires  the  poet,  the 
historical  painter,  and  the  landscape-gardener.  To  en- 
joy and  appreciate  the  efforts  of  their  genius,  we  must 
possess  no  inconsiderable  degree  of  imagination. 

The  poet  may  give  to  "  airy  nothings  a  local  habita- 
tion and  a  name,"  but  if  his  reader  has  neither  concep- 

(35) 


36  THE  YOUNG  LADY'S  HOME. 

tion  nor  imagination,  they  remain  in  his  mind  "  things 
invisible." 

The  painter's  delineation  of  passion,  or  of  noble  and 
virtuous  sentiments  brought  into  action,  may  strike  the 
sight  agreeably,  but  calls  forth  no  throb  of  sympathy 
where  there  is  no  imagination.  Neither  will  the  beautiful 
wood,  the  velvet  lawn,  the  limpid  river  with  its  spark- 
ling cascade,  the  secluded  hermitage,  the  more  classic 
temple  and  gray  ruin,  when  combined  by  the  skill  of  the 
artist  in  imitation  of  living  landscape,  affect  an  ordinary 
mind,  destitute  of  imagination,  more  than  any  other 
combination  of  earth,  wood,  and  water. 

"  A  primrose  on  the  river's  brim, 

A  yellow  primrose  was  to  him, 

And  it  was  nothing  more." 

But  the  absence  or  weakness  of  imagination  affects  not 
the  taste  alone ;  it  may  exert  a  potent  influence  upon 
the  moral  character. 

Sensibility  depends  chiefly  upon  imagination. 

Observe  the  effect  produced  by  the  reading  of  Shak- 
speare's  Lear  upon  two  young  ladies  of  different  charac- 
ter. Observe  the  quivering  lip,  the  moistening  eye,  the 
trembling  voice  of  one,  while  that  master-spirit  reveals 
Regan  and  Goneril's  filial  ingratitude  and  cruelty,  and 
the  faithful  Cordelia's  simple  and  tender  affection.  See 
the  other  turn  a  cold,  dull  eye  of  wonder  upon  her  friend 
who  is  thus  moved,  or  curl  her  lip  in  scorn  at  what  she 
deems  weakness  or  affectation. 

Some  of  the  coldness  and  selfishness  existing  in  the 
world  have  been  traced  by  philosophy  to  a  want  of  im- 
agination. She  who  steps  over  the  low  threshold  of 
poverty,  and  takes  her  seat  by  the  humble  bed  of  sick- 


IMAGINATION.  37 

ness,  without  one  gieam  of  imagination  to  reveal  the 
deep  and  hidden  miseries  of  the  sufferer  who  lies  there, 
cannot  offer  sympathy  as  true,  as  acceptable,  as  one 
whose  imagination  at  once  portrays  all  the  gloomy  ac- 
companiments of  poverty  and  woe,  and  by  a  natural 
transition  makes  herself  the  sufferer.  The  latter  may 
smooth  the  pillow  with  a  more  trembling  hand,  and  pre- 
sent the  healing  cup  with  less  firmness ;  but  the  thrilling 
voice  of  kindness,  and  the  beautiful  glow  of  sympathetic 
tenderness,  find  their  ready  way  to  the  sufferer's  heart. 
In  this  case  we  suppose,  of  course,  that  sensibility  is  un- 
der the  control  of  right  reason.  The  one  whose  heart 
is  thus  softened  will  make  greater  sacrifices  of  personal 
comfort  and  convenience  than  the  less  imaginative  one, 
who,  because  she  cannot  conceive  of  suffering,  and  can- 
not, by  any  possibility,  place  herself  in  the  same  situa- 
tion, remains  unmoved  and  comparatively  selfish.  We 
are  to  suppose  in  this  case,  that  they  are  both  governed 
by  principle,  and  that  the  desire  to  do  good  has  brought 
them  both  to  the  home  of  poverty. 

Imagination  is  a  powerful  incentive  to  virtue;  it 
exalts  the  standard  of  excellence,  enlarges  the  sphere 
of  benevolent  action,  and  vividly  depicts  the  glories  of 
a  future  state  of  reward.  It  thus  gives  wings  to  that 
faith  which  is  "the  substance  of  things  hoped  for,  and 
the  evidence  of  things  not  seen." 

Who  doubts  that  Howard,  by  his  solitary  fireside, 
often  called  up  those  pictures  of  misery,  the  grates, 
chains,  and  dungeons  of  incarcerated  men,  until  he  was 
led  to  minister  to  their  wants  and  woes  ?  Or,  that  the 
missionary  has  often  portrayed  the  miseries  of  those 
"  who  sit  in  darkness,"  until  he  resolves  to  venture  life 
4 


38  THE  YOUNG  LADv's  HOME. 

itself  to  bear  to  them  the  light  of  truth  ?  Or,  that  the 
servant  and  soldier  of  Christ,  who  has  contemplated  the 
character  of  St.  Paul  until  he  has  formed  a  perfect  con- 
ception of  it,  would  be  warmed  in  zeal  and  stimulated 
to  action,  by  imagining  Paul  surrounded  by  his  own  du- 
ties and  responsibilities? 

Imagination  often  leads  to  trustfulness  of  disposition 
and  warmth  of  friendship.  The  bright  side  of  charac- 
ter presents  itself,  embellished  with  hues  of  the  mind's 
creation.  Virtues  cluster  around  the  loved,  and  trans- 
form them  from  the  weakness  and  sinfulness  of  human 
nature  to  perfection.  A  distinguished  female  writer  of 
our -own  times  says, — "  I  never  met  in  real  life,  nor  ever 
read  in  tale  or  history,  of  any  woman,  distinguished  for 
intellect  of  the  highest  order,  who  was  not  also  remarkable 
for  this  trustingness  of  spirit,  this  hopefulness  and  cheer- 
fulness of  temper,  which  is  compatible  with  the  most 
serious  habits  of  thought,  and  the  most  profound  sensi- 
bility." 

But  we  are  compelled  to  acknowledge  that  the  noble 
power  of  imagination  is  often  uncontrolled  by  reason, 
especially  in  the  female  mind. 

An  ill-regulated  imagination  may  produce  too  great 
exhilaration  and  too  ardent  expectations,  or  morbid  sen- 
sibility and  causeless  melancholy. 

If  all  objects  are  to  you  couleur  de  rose,  it  seems 
cruel  to  rob  them  of  this  facinating  charm.  Yet  the 
sober  coloring  of  truth  best  suits  the  mental  eye  ;  it  is 
like  the  refreshing  green  in  which  nature  has  clothed  her 
fields  and  groves,  —  it  does  not  "dazzle  to  blind"; 
but  a  too  vivid  imagination,  like  the  aurora  borealis, 
throws  upon  all  objects  its  beautiful  but  unnatural  hue. 


IMAGINATION.  39 

You  imagine  yourself  a  heroine,  and  exult  in  your  air- 
built  castles ;  how  can  you  descend  to  the  homely  reali- 
ties of  life  ?  You  picture  a  "  sweet  little  isle  of  your 
own,"  with  all  the  means  and  appliances  for  happiness  ; 
how  will  this  world  of  sober  reality  disgust  you  ! 

Perhaps  you  have  already  met  with  disappointment, 
and  are  sinking  into  a  state  of  sickly  sentimental- 
ism.  You  sit  at  your  window  by  moonlight,  and  sigh  to 
the  echoing  breeze ;  you  scribble  a  dolorous  ode  to  her 
pale  ladyship,  complaining  of  the  fickleness  of  friend- 
ship, the  unsyrnpathizing  world,  and  the  heart's  loneli- 
ness. Your  pillow  is  nightly  bedewed  with  tears,  but 
for  what,  or  for  whom,  it  is  impossible  to  tell.  Your 
griefs  flow  from  the  wild  and  disjointed  views  of  your 
situation,  furnished  by  an  ill-regulated  imagination,  — 
combinations  of  circumstances  such  as  never  did  and 
never  will  come  within  your  own  experience.  Zimmer- 
man tells  us,  that  "  the  learned  Molanus,  having,  during 
a  course  of  many  years,  detached  his  mind  from  all  ob- 
jects of  sense,  neglected  all  seasonable  and  salutary  di- 
version, and,  given  an  uncontrolled  license  to  the  imagina- 
tion, fancied,  in  the  latter  part  of  his  life,  that  he  was  a  bar- 
leycorn; and  although  he  received  his  friends  with  great 
courtesy  and  politeness,  and  conversed  upon  subjects 
both  of  science  and  devotion  with  great  ease  and  ingenu- 
ity, he  could  never  afterwards  be  persuaded  to  stir  from 
home,  lest,  as  he  expressed  his  apprehension,  he  should  be 
picked  up  in  the  streets  and  swallowed  by  a  fowl."  This 
author  adds,  —  "The  female  mind  is  still  more  subject 
to  these  delusions  of  disordered  fancy  ;  for  as  their  feel- 
ings are  more  exquisite  and  their  imaginations  more 
active  than  those  of  the  other  sex,  solitude,  when  earned 


40  THE  YOUNG  LADY5S  HOME. 

to  excess,  affects  them  in  a  much  greater  degree  ' 
Beware,  "  gentle  reader" ;  you  are  not  much  in  danger 
of  imagining  yourself  a  barleycorn,  but  you  may  think 
yourself  a  heroine,  and  be  picked  up  by  some  fool  whom 
you  fancy  a  hero.  Pardon  me ;  you  will  smile  at  your 
own  follies,  when  sobered  by  coming  years  and  the 
rough  realities  of  life.  To  prevent  imagination  from 
leading  you  far  from  duty  and  happiness, — 

1.  Inquire  earnestly  what  are  the  object  and  end  of 
your  existence.     You  will  find  they  are  too  serious  and 
momentous  to  allow  you  to  dream  away  any  part  of  life. 
A  brief  probation,  involving  the  interests  of  eternity, 
demands  all  your  energies. 

2.  Learn  your  true  condition  in  life,  and  enter  active- 
ly into  its  duties.     Regular  employment  will  give  you  a 
healthy  tone  of  mind,  as  well  as  invigorate  the  body. 
Early  rising  and  laborious  occupation  are  admirable  cor- 
rectives to  a  disordered  fancy. 

3.  Endeavor  to  relieve  or  to  alleviate  the   sufferings 
which  come  within  your  reach.    Instead  of  wasting  your 
feelings  upon  fictitious  sorrow,  seek  out  that  which  is 
real,  and  be  zealous  in  the  ministry  of  consolation. 

4.  Read  books  of  sound  reasoning  or  sober  fact ;  ab- 
jure novels,  and  deny  yourself,  for  a  time,  the  luxury  of 
poetry  of  a  sentimental  character. 

5.  Cultivate  and  learn  to  value  the  society  of  people 
of  practical  plain  sense ;  they  will  teach  you  the  folly  of 
romantic    expectations ;    by   contrasting    their   cheerful 
contentment  with  an  humble  lot  with  your  own  wild  reach- 
ings  after  ideal  happiness,  you  may  learn  to  extract  com- 
fort from  your  condition.     The  imagination   and  sensi- 
bility that  are  elementary  constituents  of  poetical  genius 


IMAGINATION.  41 

often  bring  misery  to  their  gifted  possessor.  Common- 
sense  is  needed  as  a  balance-wheel.  But  there  may  be 
some  who  have  been  so  closely  fastened  down  to  matters 
of  fact,  that  imagination  has  been  entirely  repressed. 
There  is,  however,  little  danger  in  youth  of  clipping  too 
closely  the  wings  of  fancy.  Carefully  cultivate  atten- 
tion, conception,  judgment,  abstraction,  —  and  imagi- 
nation will  usually  take  care  of  itself.  Still  it  is  possible 
that,  either  from  education  or  from  temperament,  there 
may  be  but  little  imagination.  If  so,  endeavor  to  soar 
a  little  in  fancy-land.  Read  the  Merchant  of  Venice. 
It  is  very  far  from  being  one  of  Shakspeare's  most  ima- 
ginative plays,  and  is  on  that  very  account  better  to 
begin  with.  Read  it  thrice;  first  for  the  story,  then 
for  the  characters,  —  especially  that  of  Portia.  Mrs. 
Jameson's  splendid  development  of  this  character  in  her 
Characteristics  of  Woman,  will  assist  you  to  understand 
and  appreciate  it.  Lastly,  read  it  again  for  the  poetry 
profusely  scattered  over  it,  and  commit  to  memory  some 
of  the  finest  passages.  Then  read  the  Tempest.  These 
will  but  introduce  you  into  the  vestibule,  and  prepare  you 
for  the  glories  of  the  inner-temple,  —  the  thrilling  splen- 
dor of  Macbeth,  the  deep  pathos  of  Lear,  and  the  all- 
searching  philosophy  of  Hamlet.  Milton's  Comus  you 
must  admire;  who  can  help  it?  and  L'Allegro,  and  II 
Penseroso,  and,  after  a  time,  the  Paradise  Lost.  You 
may  think  yourself  happy  if  you  have  been  denied  the 
perusal  of  the  Waverly  novels  until  your  judgment  is 
matured ;  for  now  you  can  read  them  for  their  perfect 
delineations  of  human  character.  When  read  too  early, 
they  are  very  imperfectly  understood.  Joanna  Baillie's 
splendid  tragedies  cannot  fail  to  give  pleasure  to  a 
4* 


42  THE  YOUNG  LADY'S  HOME. 

cultivated  mind,  to  improve  the  taste,  and  correct  the 
imagination. 

It  would  have  been  deemed  unnecessary  to  say  any 
thing  here  of  books  that  pollute  the  imagination,  did  they 
not  abound  in  the  land,  and  everywhere  open  their  re- 
splendently  decorated  pages  to  beguile  and  betray.  No 
lady  wishes  to  have  her  mind  filled  with  impure  thoughts ; 
she  should,  therefore,  avoid  many  publications  that  are 
freely  spoken  of,  even  among  those  whose  delicacy  is 
deemed  unquestionable.  Never  read  a  book  without 
having  first  ascertained  its  character  from  some  friend ; 
and  never  peruse  one  that  you  would  not  read  aloud  to 
your  father  or  brother. 

A  pure  imagination  is  a  pearl  of  great  price  ;  dim  not 
its  lustre,  sully  not  its  purity.  How  holy  should  be  that 
inner  sanctuary  of  the  soul,  where  none  but  God  may 
enter ! 


CHAPTER  V. 

JUDGMENT. 


The  reason  firm,  the  temperate  will, 
Endurance,  foresight,  strength,  and  skill." 

WOHDSWORTH. 


IT  is  not  our  intention  to  enter  into  a  metaphysical  dis- 
cussion, or  to  decide  upon  the  proper  use  of  terms. 
Reason  or  judgment  we  wish  to  treat  of  practically,  and 
we  use  the  latter  word  in  preference  to  the  former,  trust- 
ing that  it  will  be  perfectly  understood. 

It  is  a  reproach  often  cast  upon  our  sex,  that  we  are 
either  naturally  deficient  in  the  reasoning  faculty,  or,  that 
it  is  so  little  cultivated  in  education  as  to  remain  very 
feeble.  Is  it  so  ?  "  We  hope  better  things  of  you." 
Woman,  in  being  raised  to  the  true  dignity  of  her  station 
by  Christianity,  has  also  been  exalted  to  her  proper  rank 
as  an  intellectual  being.  Her  «  dark  age"  has  long  since 
passed  away,  and  there  are  no  inquisitions  where  you 
will  be  tried  for  witchcraft,  though  there  are  still  some 
where,  if  you  are  "  learned,  wise,  judicious,"  you  may 
be  pronounced  a  decided  blue  and  a  decided  bore.  But 
what  says  the  learned,  the  elegant  Story  ?  « These 
things  have,  in  a  great  measure,  passed  away.  The 
prejudices  that  dishonored  the  sex  have  yielded  to  the 
influence  of  truth.  By  slow  but  sure  advances,  educa- 
tion has  extended  itself  to  all  ranks  of  female  society. 
There  is  no  longer  any  dread  that  the  culture  of  science 

(43) 


44 

should  foster  that  masculine  boldness  or  restless  inde- 
pendence, which  alarms  by  its  sallies,  or  wounds  by  its 
inconsistencies.  We  have  seen  that  here,  as  every- 
where else,  knowledge  is  favorable  to  human  virtue  and 
human  happiness  ;  that  the  refinement  of  literature  adds 
lustre  to  the  devotion  of  piety  ;  that  true  learning,  like 
true  taste,  is  modest  and  unostentatious ;  that  grace  of 
manners  receives  a  higher  polish  from  the  discipline  of 
the  schools ;  that  cultivated  genius  sheds  a  cheering  light 
over  domestic  duties,  and  its  very  sparkles,  like  those  of 
the  diamond,  attest  at  once  its  power  and  its  purity. 
There  is  not  a  rank  of  society,  however  high,  which 
does  not  pay  homage  to  literature,  or  that  would  not 
blush  even  at  the  suspicion  of  that  ignorance,  which  half 
a  century  ago  was  neither  uncommon  nor  discreditable. 
There  is  not  a  parent,  whose  pride  may  not  glow  at  the 
thought  that  his  daughter's  happiness  is,  in  a  great  mea- 
sure, within  her  own  command,  whether  she  keeps  the 
cool,  sequestered  vale  of  life,  or  visits  the  busy  walks 
of  fashion." 

Your  taste,  your  imagination,  may  be  exquisite,  my 
young  friends ;  but  the  objects  upon  which  they  are  to 
be  exercised  are  few,  compared  with  those  that  will 
call  for  judgment.  It  is  as  important  in  the  management 
of  the  domestic  machinery,  of  which  woman  is  the  main- 
spring, as  in  the  management  of  a  state  or  army.  "  The 
reason  firm"  is  the  efficient  cause  of  "  the  temperate 
will,"  ever  ready  to  yield  where  obedience  is  due ; 
"  foresight"  to  avoid  the  rocks  and  quicksands  that  hide 
themselves  from  the  unwary;  "the  strength"  that  lies 
in  religious  principle  and  self-respect,  and  "  the  skill" 
which  extracts  from  life  its  balm,  and  renders  woman 
indeed  "  a  ministering  angel." 


JUDGMENT.  45 

You  may  think  that  your  situation,  under  parental 
watchfulness,  precludes  the  necessity  for  the  exertion  of 
much  judgment.  You  may  ever  cpntinue  under  the  au- 
thority of  another,  but  that  need  not  prevent  you  from 
possessing  independence  of  opinion,  resulting  from  the 
clear  conviction  of  a  reasoning  mind,  from  fixedness  of 
purpose  originating  in  the  same  source,  and  moral  cour- 
age, that  sure  test  of  a  strong  mind. 

1.  Bring  your  accomplishments  and  employments  un- 
der a  strict  scrutiny.     Are  they  such  as  to  strengthen 
the  judgment  from  day  to  day?     Does  the  morning  find 
you  reasoning  upon  the  best  disposal  of  time,  and  the 
evening  lead  you  to  a  close  survey  of  the  manner  in 
which  it  has  been  spent  ? 

2.  Some  directions  have  already  been  anticipated  in 
the  chapter  on  Imagination,  especially  with   regard  to 
reading.     Your  mind  will  be  invigorated  by  the  perusal 
and  reperusal  of  Wayland's  Moral  Philosophy  and  But- 
ler's Analogy.     A  few  good  books,  faithfully  perused, 
will  strengthen  the  judgment  more  than  a  cursory  glance 
at  a  whole  library. 

3.  Do  not  think  it  a  mark  of  judgment  to  despise  the 
appropriate    duties    of  woman.     The  pursuits  of  your 
school-days  may  have  given  you  habits  of  study,  incom- 
patible with  the  present  demands  upon  your  time.     The 
true  excellence  of  your  education  will  now  be  tested.    If 
you  can  practise  cheerful  self-denial^  in  yielding  up  for 
a  time  your  own  tastes  and  pleasures,  and  learning  with 
readiness  many  things  in  domestic  economy,  as  useful, 
but  less  agreeable,  than  your  former  pursuits,  you  have 
acquired  something  of  the  art  of  self-government.     In 
amusing  your  younger  brothers  and  sisters,  you  may  ex- 
ercise judgment  as  well  as  good-nature.     Good  sense 


46 

may  be  shown  about  trifles,  and  not  wasted  upon  them 
either.  Dr.  Johnson  used  to  say  of  Mrs.  Elizabeth 
Carter,  "that  she  could  make  a  pudding  as  well  as 
translate  Epictetus  from  the  Greek,  and  work  a  hand- 
kerchief as  well  as  compose  a  poem." 

4.  Read  Mason  on  Self-knowledge,  and  write  out  the 
divisions  in  a  little   note-book.     Try  yourself  by  that 
standard,  and  mark  every  thing  in  which  you  find  your- 
self deficient.     It  will  be  a  good  moral  as  well  as  intel- 
lectual exercise. 

5.  Endeavor  to  think  consecutively  and    clearly  on 
every  subject.     That  hastiness  and  impatience  of  mind 
which  results  from  a  lively  and  sanguine  temperament, 
must  be  carefully  guarded  against,  as  well  as  that  indo- 
lence which  perpetually  haunts  a  quiet  and  easy  disposi- 
tion.    Neither  of  these  will  sift  the  motives  of  conduct, 
reason  from  facts  to  principles,  or  enter  into  a  minute 
investigation  of  causes  and  effects. 

6.  Examine  whether  you  perfectly  understand  all  the 
•words  which  you  employ  in  conversation  and  in  writing; 
whether  you  have  full,  clear,  distinct,  and  accurate  ideas 
on  the  subjects  with  which  you  are  most  familiar.     It  is 
wonderful  how  we  skim  over  the  surface,  just  dipping 
here  and  there,  without  ever  going  down  to  bring  up  the 
pearls  that  lie  in  deep  water.     This  is  in  consequence 
of  a  want  of  due  cultivation  of  the  conceptive  faculty  in 
early  education.    This  has  not  been  dwelt  upon  at  length 
here,  as  it  belongs  more  properly  to  an  earlier  period. 
It  was  the  duty  of  those  who  had  the  charge  of  the  early 
development  of  your  mind,  to  know  whether  you  had 
clear  conceptions  ;  perhaps  they  neglected  it ;  if  so,  you 
have  serious  obstacles  to  encounter ;  the  first  step  now 
is  to  ascertain  the  fact ;  the  next,  to  remedy  it  as  far  as 


JUDGMENT.  47 

lies  in  your  power.  Whenever  you  discover  that  you 
do  not  perfectly  understand  any  thing,  be  diligent  and 
patient  in  inquiry,  until  the  idea  is  perfect  in  your  mind. 
By  the  application  of  concentrated  thought,  many  ideas 
that  have  been  but  floating,  vague  shadows,  will  assume 
fixed  and  definite  form. 

"  Experience  should  effect  changes, —  must,  with  all 
rational  beings,  produce  innovations  ;  they  are  the  result 
of  its  lessons.  It  should  implant  enlarged  charity  where 
bigotry  lurked  before,  should  exchange  presumption  for 
humility,  rashness  for  caution,  precipitance  for  habits  of 
investigation )  passion  for  reason." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

HISTORY. 

"And  he,  whose  heart  is  weary  of  the  strife 
Of  meaner  spirits,  and  whose  mental  gaze 
Would  shun  the  dull,  cold  littleness  of  life, 
Awhile  to  dwell  amidst  sublimer  days, 
Must  turn  to  thee." — Mas.  HEMANS. 

HISTORY  is  the  scroll  of  time,  —  the  mighty  record 
of  the  transactions  of  man,  in  all  ages  and  climes.  It 
tells  of  the  foundations  of  empires,  —  their  progress 
from  the  first  outlines  marked  out  by  the  ploughshare, 
to  that  exalted  pitch  of  grandeur  which  calls  forth  won- 
der and  admiration.  It  shows  what  constituted  their 
true  glory  and  happiness,  and  the  causes  of  their  decline 
and  fall. 

History  makes  us  acquainted  with  the  great  and  good 
of  all  nations,  and  the  great  and  bad,  for 

"Les  grands  crimes  immortalisent 
Ainsi  que  les  grandes  vertus  ;  " 

thus  stimulating  by  example  to  virtue  and  warning 
against  crime. 

The  laws,  genius,  customs,  manners  of  mankind, 
history  reveals, — furnishing  to  all  coming  ages  the  prin- 
ciples of  government  and  the  maxims  of  civil  society. 

From  history  we  acquire  a  knowledge  of  the  progress 

of  the  arts,   science  and    literature  of  every  age    and 

country,  from  the   first  rude  hut  of  a  savage,  to  the 

glorious  Parthenon  ;  from  the  first  idea  of  numbers,  to 

(48) 


HISTORY.  49 

Newton's  Principia ;  from  the  rude  minstrel's  strain,  to 
Milton's  Paradise  Lost. 

History  proclaims  the  power,  the  wisdom,  and  the 
justice  of  the  Almighty,  and  proves  that  He  who  created 
still  controls  this  world  as  its  Sovereign  Lord. 

History  may  be  read  for  amusement.  Facts  are  al- 
ways agreeable  to  the  human  mind ;  "  if  any  moral  feel- 
ing be  instinctive,  it  is  respect  for  truth."  The  little 
works  of  fiction,  which  too  often  constitute  the  first  in- 
tellectual food,  would  lose  half  their  value  with  children, 
if  they  suspected  they  were  not  true.  Let  it  not  be 
supposed,  that  we  would  on  this  account  prohibit  all 
works  of  fiction  at  that  early  age.  They  often  inculcate 
lessons  of  wisdom,  and  furnish  bright  examples  of  moral 
excellence,  which  may  be  of  lasting  benefit ;  they  some- 
times afford  to  those  of  riper  years  that  knowledge  of 
refined  and  elegant  society,  which  cannot  be  gained  in 
any  other  way.  But  tales  and  romances  often  induce  a 
disrelish  for  history.  To  the  reflecting  and  philos9phic 
mind  it  furnishes  a  rich  fund  of  intellectual  enjoyment. 

The  study  of  history  strengthens  the  judgment.  The 
observation  and  experience  of  every  individual  must  be 
limited ;  we  see  only  minute  parts  of  the  great  whole, 
even  when  interesting  events  pass  before  our  own  eyes. 
"  The  immortal  hero  of  three  revolutions,"  although  an 
actor  in  soul-stirring  events  that  would  fill  many  folios, 
could  not  relate  from  his  own  experience  what  history 
will  unfold  to  future  ages.  The  collected  testimony  of 
many  witnesses  must  make  up  the  whole  train  of  causes, 
with  their  results.  The  impression  made  upon  the  mind 
by  passing  events  is  more  vivid,  but  the  knowledge  we 
derive  from  authentic  history  is  more  correct ;  because, 
seeing  them  at  a  distance,  we  .have  neither  the  partiality 
5 


50 


of  an  actor,  nor  the  prejudices  of  an  eyewitness.  The 
close  study  of  character,  and  this  investigation  into 
causes  and  effects,  increase  discrimination  and  invig- 
orate the  judgment. 

The  knowledge  that  we  gain  from  history  is  various 
and  important.  But,  in  order  to  make  the  knowledge 
thus  acquired  of  any  real  value,  it  must  be  made  the 
subject  of  mature  reflection.  We  should  have  a  spe- 
cific object  in  view  in  reading  a  particular  history ; 
name  this  object  or  subject,  and  make  it  a  leading  one. 
For  example :  — 

The  causes  that  have  advanced  religious  liberty. 

The  progress  of  civil  liberty. 

The  influence  of  laws  and  government  upon  national 
character. 

The  gradual  improvement  in  the  useful  arts. 

The  progress  of  the  fine  arts. 

The  evils  of  war. 

TJie  influence  of  literature  upon  the  character  of  the 
age,  and  vice  versa. 

The  misery  occasioned  by  daring  and  sinful  ambition. 

The  influence  of  Christianity  upon  national  pros- 
perity. 

The  influence  of  ivomen. 

All  these  subjects  may  come  under  cognizance  in 
reading  the  history  of  a  single  period ;  but  to  give  clear- 
ness and  precision  to  our  ideas,  and  to  methodize  what 
we  read,  a  leading  subject  may  thus  be  taken,  and,  after 
finishing  a  book,  an  abstract  of  all  the  knowledge  gained 
on  this  particular  subject  may  be  written  in  your  mne- 
monica,  in  its  proper  place.  This  will  serve  as  a  chain 
to  bind  the  whole  together. 

Geography,  ancient  and  modern,  it  is  presumed,  has 


HISTORY.  5.1 

been  sufficiently  studied  at  school ;  yet  maps  should  be 
always  used  in  reading  history. 

Some  remarkable  eras  should  be  chosen,  and  im- 
printed in  memory,  as  landmarks  in  chronology.  The 
intervening  events  may  be  placed  in  their  order,  and 
thus  save  the  memory  from  being  burdened.  For  ex- 
ample :  — 

B.    C. 

The  creation  of  the  world, 4004 

The  deluge, 2348 

Astronomical  observations  begun  at  Babylon,  2234 

The  Chaldean  monarchy  founded,  .  .  .  2221 

The  kingdom  of  Egypt  commences,  .  .  .  2188 

Abraham  born, 1996 

Joseph  sold  into  Egypt, 1728 

Sparta  built, 1718 

Cecrop  settles  in  Attica, 1582 

Moses  born, 1571 

Athens  founded, 1556 

Tyre  built, 1252 

The  Trojan  war  begins, 1174 

Solomon  begins  to  build  the  temple,  .  .  .  1012 

Lycurgus,  the  Spartan  lawgiver,  born,  .  .  926 

Rome  founded, 753 

Death  of  Isaiah,  the  prophet, 696 

Cyrus  conquers  and  terminates  the  kingdom  of 

Babylon, 538 

Xerxes  begins  his  expedition  against  Greece,  481 

Malachi,  the  last  of  the  prophets,  ....  436 

Socrates,  the  Grecian  philosopher,  flourished,  429 
Philip  of  Macedon  defeats  the  Greeks  at  Che- 

ronea, .---?•  ;*R-»  .  338 

Alexander  the  Great  dies,  ^-^  *.,;  ^-:-^K*  j  323 


52  THE  YOUNG  LADY'S  HOME. 

Silver  first  coined  at  Rome, 269 

Hannibal  passes  the  Alps, 218 

Carthage  destroyed, 146 

Julius  CaBsar  born, 100 

Caesar  killed  in  the  Senate-house,    .     .  •%  94-     44 

Antony  and  Cleopatra's  death, 30 

Rome  at  the  meridian  of  its  glory,  under  Au- 
gustus CaBsar, 19 

The  birth  of  our  Saviour,  Jesus  Christ,  four 
years   before   the   common  era,  termed 

Anno  Domini. 

If  these  dates  are  not  numerous  enough,  a  larger  se- 
lection might  be  made ;  these,  surely,  can  be  perfectly 
committed  to  memory.  Sacred  and  profane  history  are 
here  mingled  as  they  should  be ;  the  events  recorded  in 
the  Bible  are  too  apt  to  be  disconnected  in  the  mind 
from  all  others,  —  to  stand  apart,  as  if  they  belonged  to 
some  other  world. 

A  chronological  table  of  the  same  kind  should  be 
made  out  for  modern  history.  It  is  better  for  each  one 
of  you  to  select  the  events  for  yourself,  and  their  number 
will  depend  upon  the  confidence  which  you  have  in  your 
own  memory. 

The  general  outlines  of  history  being  thus  fixed  im- 
movably, separate  portions  may  be  read  and  referred  to 
in  their  chronological  order,  without  difficulty. 

Most  young  ladies  are  ignorant  of  every  thing  in 
Sacred  History  but  a  few  leading  characters.  It  should 
be  taken  up  now,  and  read  with  the  same  attention  that 
you  would  bestow  upon  a  new  study.  Read  it  for  the 
sake  of  fully  appreciating  its  valuable  treasures.  Take 
separate  portions  for  perusal ;  for  example,  the  reign  of 


HISTORY.  53 

David.  Learn  every  thing  relative  to  the  laws,  conq.iests, 
mode  of  warfare,  government,  manners,  arts,  literature, 
customs,  music,  poetry,  religion,  of  that  memorable 
reign.  Compare  the  condition  of  the  Israelites  with  other 
nations  at  that  period ;  compare  it  with  their  condition 
under  the  Judges.  See  if  David,  the  "  monarch  min- 
strel," the  warrior,  the  generous  friend,  the  noble  foe, 
will  not  bear  a  comparison  with  the  brightest  heroes  of 
profane  history.  Read  the  wonderful  reign  of  Solomon, 
and  other  portions,  in  the  same  manner.  A  rich  fund 
of  historical  truth  may  thus  be  collected  from  the  Old 
Testament. 

It  is  presumed  that  young  ladies  become  familiar  at 
school  with  general  history,  ancient  and  modern,  and 
they  will  now  fill  up  the  grand  outlines  as  they  have 
time  and  opportunity. 

The  history  of  our  own  country  should  be  well  under- 
stood. This  is  too  often  neglected.  The  wonderful 
achievements  of  "  Macedonia's  madman,  and  the  Swede," 
the  pomp  of  Eastern  magnificence,  the  splendor  of 
thrones  and  coronets,  have  dazzled  the  imagination, 
until  the  plain,  rational  history  of  our  own  country  seems 
tame  and  insipid.  Its  simplicity  and  moral  beauty  are 
not  appreciated  ;  as  the  eye,  long  accustomed  to  glaciers, 
cataracts,  and  precipices,  looks  with  indifference  upon 
the  mild  beauty  of  a  rich,  cultivated  landscape. 

In  the  best  times  of  the  Roman  republic,  an  intimate 
acquaintance  with  the  history  of  their  own  country  was 
deemed  requisite  for  all  who  expected  to  occupy  ele- 
vated stations,  or  to  administer  public  affairs;  but  in 
later  times  and  more  degenerate  days,  it  was  said,  that 
"they  did  not  begin  to  read  the  history  of  their  country, 
till  they  were  elevated  to  the  highest  offices  of  the  state  ; 


54 

they  first  obtained  the  employment,  and  then  bethought 
themselves  of  the  qualifications  necessary  for  the  proper 
discharge  of  it."  May  this  disgraceful  reproach,  never 
be  deserved  by  the  young  men  of  our  country !  May 
their  sisters  set  them  a  noble  example,  by  making  the 
deeds  and  characters  of  the  heroes  of  our  father-land 
as  familiar  as  housohold  words ! 

The  history  of  the  United  States  of  America  pre- 
sents to  the  Christian  and  the  philanthropist  heart- 
stirring  events,  which  need  no  false  coloring  to  give  them 
a  thrilling  interest.  Specimens  of  moral  excellence, 
equal  to  any  the  world  has  ever  produced,  adorn  its  an- 
nals, and  the  benign  light  of  liberty  and  religion  encircle 
it  with  a  mild  halo  of  glory. 

The  French  introduced  that  kind  of  historical  writing, 
which  they  termed  Memoirs.  For  example,  —  Sully's 
Memoirs  of  the  Reign  of  Henry  the  Fourth.  Numerous 
works  of  the  same  kind  have  appeared  in  English, — 
Roscoe's  Lorenzo  de  Medici,  and  Leo  the  Tenth ; 
Watson's  Philip  the  Second  and  Third ;  Miss  Aildn's 
Courts  of  Elizabeth  and  James ;  Scott's  Napoleon ; 
Irving's  Columbus;  Prescott's  Ferdinand  and  Isabella, 
Conquest  of  Mexico  and  Peru  ;  and  others,  affording 
agreeable  and  profitable  reading. 

Political  economy  is  so  much  the  fashion  of  the  day, 
that  every  well-educated  young  lady  is  expected  to  give 
some  attention  to  this  popular  study.  Smith's  Wealth 
of  Nations  is  an  old-fashioned  book,  said  to  contain 
many  errors;  but  formerly  it  was  the  authorized  text- 
book on  this  science.  Among  the  many  writers  of  the 
present  time,  on  this  topic,  Professor  Wayland  holds  a 
distinguished  place. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

NATJJRAL  SCIENCE. 

"  Such  pleasures  are  pure  and  refined ;  they  are  congenial  to  the 
character  of  a  rational  being ;  they  are  more  permanent  than  sensitive 
enjoyments ;  they  afford  solace  in  the  hours  of  retirement  from  the 
bustle  of  business,  and  consolation  amid  the  calamities  and  afflictions 
to  which  humanity  is  exposed." — DICK. 

NATURAL  science  opens  a  wide  field  for  study  and 
recreation.  The  book  of  nature  and  the  book  of  reve- 
lation, written  by  the  same  unerring  finger,  are  in  perfect 
and  beautiful  harmony,  demonstrating  the  wisdom  and 
goodness  of  the  Almighty  Creator. 

Botany  is  a  favorite  science,  and  a  very  pleasant  one 
for  young  ladies.  The  care  of  flowers  is  represented  by 
Milton  as  not  unworthy  of  Eve  in  her  state  of  perfect 
innocence  and  bliss;  —  he  describes  her, 

"  Veiled  in  a  cloud  of  fragrance,  .  . 

oft  stooping  to  support 

Each  flower  of  tender  stalk,  whose  head,  though  gay 
Carnation,  purple,  azure,  or  specked  with  gold, 
Hung  drooping  unsustained  ;  them  she  upstays 
Gently  with  myrtle  band,  mindless  the  while 
Herself,  though  fairest  unsupported  flower, 
From  her  best  prop  so  far,  and  storm  so  nigh." 

The  nomenclature  of  this  science  is  rather  difficult  to 
learn ;  but,  that  obstacle  once  overcome,  all  the  rest  is 
delightful.  Among  American  botanists  are  Torrey, 
Tully,  Eaton,  Ives,  and  a  host  of  others,  worthy  to  be 
known  to  every  lover  of  the  science. 

(55) 


56 

Mineralogy  and  Geology  will  prove  sources  of  high 
enjoyment  to  the  lover  of  nature.  The  knowledge  of 
ihese  sciences  is  usually  communicated  through  the  me- 
dium of  popular  lectures.  The  specimens  necessary  to 
illustrate  these  sciences  are  seldom  within  reach  of  the 
retired  reader ;  lectures,  however,  should  not  be  deemed 
sufficient;  they  should  be  followed  by  a  course  of  read- 
ing and  observation. 

Chemistry  must  be  acquired  in  the  same  way,  for  the 
sake  of  the  experiments ;  but  it  is  wrong  to  give  up 
entirely  the  study,  the  moment  the  impression  of  these 
splendid  experiments  has  passed  away ;  many  valuable 
hints  in  domestic  economy  have  been  given,  which 
should  be  treasured  up  for  future  use ;  the  "  manipula- 
tions" of  a  housekeeper  will  test  their  value. 

Conchology  and  Entomology  will  furnish  rational  rec- 
reation, which  may  save  you  from  hours  of  ennui,  or 
redeem  your  time  from  gossip  and  folly. 

Astronomy  is  a  science  whose  sublimity  exalts  the 
mind,  and  whose  variety  gives  infinite  scope  to  the 
imagination.  Its  amazing  truths  reveal  the  power  and 
wisdom  of  the  Almighty  Creator,  and  give  us  a  faint 
glimpse  of  the  magnificence  of  that  light,  unapproachable, 
where  dwells  the  King  eternal,  immutable,  and  full  of 
glory. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

ENGLISH  LITERATURE. 

"  I  have  been  four  days  confined  to  my  chamber  by  a  cold,  which 
has  already  kept  me  from  three  plays,  nine  sales,  five  shows,  and  six 
card-tables,  and  put  me  seventeen  visits  behindhand  ;  and  the  doctor 
tells  my  mamma  that  if  I  fret  and  cry  it  will  settle  in  my  head,  and 
I  shall  not  be  fit  to  be  seen  these  six  weeks." — RAMBLER. 

A  TASTE  for  reading  is  indeed  a  never-failing  source 
of  enjoyment.  How  many  vacant  hours  of  life  would 
pass  heavily  away,  wrere  it  not  for  the  companionship  of 
books !  During  a  course  of  school  education,  very  little 
time  can  be  devoted  to  miscellaneous  reading.  Many 
are  the  illustrious  names  stored  up  in  memory,  whose 
more  intimate  acquaintance  is  now  to  be  sought.  The 
long-wished  period  has  arrived ;  but  is  it  a  season  of 
leisure?  Let  the  young  lady  who  is  out  in  society 
answer.  Innumerable  are  the  demands  upon  her  time  ; 
like  the  belle  quoted  at  the  beginning  of  the  chapter,  she 
might  say, — "  If  at  any  time  I  can  gain  an  hour  by  not 
being  at  home,  I  have  so  many  things  to  do,  so  many 
alterations  to  make  in  my  clothes,  so  many  visitant's 
names  to  read  over,  so  many  invitations  to  accept 
or  refuse,  so  many  cards  to  write,  so  many  fashions  to 
consider,  that  I  am  lost  in  confusion.  When,  shall  I 
either  stop  my  course,  or  so  change  it  as  to  want  a 
book?"  If  all  young  ladies  had  thus  given  themselves 
over  to  frivolity,  we  might  write  in  vain.  Some  there 

(57) 


58 

are,  we  trust,  \vho  find  time  for  the  improvement  of 
mind. 

"  The  world  has  people  of  all  sorts,"  says  Locke ; 
literature  has  books  of  all  sorts,  and  how  shall  one  know, 
among  the  infinite  variety,  what  to  choose,  or  where  to 
begin  ? 

The  best  writers  in  the  English  language  should  be 
known  to  every  well-educated  young  lady.  She  will, 
of  course,  be  able  to  read  but  a  small  portion  of  what 
they  have  written,  yet  she  may  by  so  doing  become 
familiar  with  their  style  and  sentiments  ;  she  may  at  least 
save  herself  from  the  blunders  and  perplexities  into 
which  she  will  inevitably  fall,  if  ignorant  of  English 
classic  literature.  It  happened,  one  evening,  in  the 
course  of  a  little  play,  called  Characters,  among  some 
young  people,  that  the  name  of  Pope  was  given.  A  very' 
fashionably-educated  young  lady  whispered  to  her  next 
neighbor, — "Pray  tell  me  who  they  mean; — the  pope?" 
"No;  A.  Pope."  "Why,  which  pope?  —  there  have 
been  thousands."  "  Not  a  Roman  pontiff',  —  our  Eng- 
lish Pope,  the  poet."  "  Never  heard  of  such  a  man  in 
my  life  ;  is  he  now  living  ?"  asked  the  young  lady. 

Some  of  the  older  English  poets  are  now  almost  un- 
intelligible from  their  quaint  phraseology  and  obsolete 
words.  Chaucer  and  Surrey  have  been  modernized  ; 
but  there  is  little  before  the  Augustan  age  of  English 
literature  that  affords  much  pleasure  to  the  reader.  In 
1558,  Elizabeth  succeeded  to  the  throne  of  Great  Britain. 
In  this  reign,  says  Campbell,  « the  English  mind  put 
forth  its  energies  in  every  direction,  exalted  by  a  purer 
religion,  and  enlarged  by  new  views  of  truth.  This  was 
an  age  of  loyalty,  adventure,  and  generous  emulation. 


ENGLISH    LITERATURE.  59 

The  chivalrous  character  was  softened  by  intellectual 
pursuits,  while  the  genius  of  chivalry  itself  still  lingered, 
as  if  unwilling  to  depart,  and  paid  his  last  homage  to  a 
warlike  and  female  reign.  A  degree  of  romantic  fancy 
remained  in  the  manners  and  superstitions  of  the  people ; 
and  allegory  might  be  said  to  parade  the  streets  in  their 
public  pageants  and  festivals.  Quaint  and  pedantic  as 
those  allegorical  exhibitions  might  often  be,  they  were 
nevertheless  more  expressive  of  erudition,  ingenuity,  and 
moral  meaning,  than  they  had  been  in  former  times. 

"  The  philosophy  of  the  highest  minds  still  partook  of  a 
visionary  character.  A  poetical  spirit  infused  itself  into 
the  practical  heroism  of  the  age ;  and  some  of  the  wor- 
thies of  that  period  seem  less  like  ordinary  men,  than 
beings  called  forth  out  of  fiction,  and  arrayed  in  the 
brightness  of  her  dreams.  They  had  high  thoughts 
seated  in  a  heart  of  courtesy.  The  life  of  Sir  Philip 
Sidney  was  poetry  put  into  action." 

That  illustrious  age  furnished  a  constellation  of  genius, 
which  will  be  conspicuous  and  brilliant  in  the  hemisphere 
of  literature  to  the  end  of  time.  Spenser,  Sir  Philip 
Sidney,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  Shakspeare,  Bacon.  The 
last  named  was  born  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  as  we 
may  remember  from  his  ready  reply  when  the  queen 
asked  him  his  age:  —  "Just  two  years  younger  than 
your  Majesty's  happy  reign." 

Edmund  Spenser,  the  first  in  point  of  time  in  this 
reign,  immortalized  himself  by  his  Faery  Queen.  It  is 
an  elaborate  allegorical  poem,  of  which  only  six  of  the 
original  twelve  books  remain  ;  the  others  are  said  to 
have  been  trusted  to  the  care  of  a  servant,  who  lost  them 
on  his  passage  from  Ireland  to  England.  The  adven- 


60  THE  YOUNG  LADv's  HOME. 

tures  of  a  knight  personifying  a  particular  virtue,  as 
Courtesy,  Holiness,  &c.,  occupy  each  book.  Such  a 
host  of  sentiments  and  ideas,  also  personified,  attend  the 
knight,  that,  although  we  acknowledge  the  unparalleled 
niceness  and  beauty  of  his  fancy,  the  profusion  bewil- 
ders. Queens,  fairies,  knights,  dwarfs,  giants,  acknow- 
ledge the  enchanter's  spell,  and  rise  in  gorgeous  arms 
and  apparel  at  the  touch  of  his  wand.  Mountain  and 
woodland,  "  plants  both  humble  and  tall,"  cottage  and 
castle,  fresh  flowerets  and  "mouldy  moss,"  "heaped 
snow"  and  lovely  lake,  all  glide  before  the  mind,  like  a 
moving  panorama.  Such  exuberance  of  fancy  belonged 
to  that  poet  who  has  been  called  "  the  inspirer  of  Mil- 
ton,"—  less  chaste  and  refined  than  his  successor,  but 
glowing  with  the  fire  of  genius.  Spenser  was  the  friend 
of  Sidney  and  Raleigh. 

Sir  Philip  Sidney  was  the  author  of  an  incomplete 
romance,  called  Arcadia,  which  is  now  nearly  obsolete. 
He  was  more  distinguished  for  his  conversation  and  his 
elegant  manners,  his  bravery  and  noble  heart,  than  for 
his  writings,  though  they  have  been  said  to  possess 
"fervor  of  eloquence"  and  "purity  of  thought." 

Sir  Walter  Raleigh  is  associated  in  our  minds  with 
the  colonization  of  Virginia,  and  is  better  known  as  an 
accomplished  courtier,  and  an  unfortunate  one,  than  as  a 
poet.  During  his  long  confinement  in  the  Tower,  he 
wrote  many  fugitive  poems,  and  a  prose  work,  entitled, 
"A  History  of  the  World,"  which  is  now  nearly  for- 
gotten. 

Francis  Bacon,  Lord  Chancellor  of  England,  wrote 
upon  law,  history,  the  advancement  of  learning,  and 
many  other  subjects.  He  established  human  knowledge 


ENGLISH    LITERATURE.  61 

upon  a  new  and  firm  basis, — facts,  tested  by  experiment. 
His  prose  partakes  of  the  figurative  style"  of  the  age, 
though  always  clear  and  precise.  A  volume  of  Essays 
which,  to  use  his  own  words,  "  come  home  to  men's 
business  and  bosoms,"  retains  its  place  as  a  popular 
book  in  almost  every  library. 

Shakspeare  !  for  how  many  thousand  volumes  has  this 
immortal  name  served  as  a  text !  "  An  overstrained 
enthusiasm,  it  has  been  said,  is  more  .pardonable  than 
the  want  of  it ;  for  our  admiration  cannot  easily  surpass 
his  genius."  It  was  reserved  for  the  German  critic, 
Schlegel,  to  give  the  best  criticism  upon  the  plays  of 
Shakspeare  that  had  appeared.  Mrs.  Jameson  has 
thrown  a  new  and  brilliant  light  upon  his  heroines. 

"  Never,  perhaps,  was  there  so  comprehensive  a 
talent  for  the  delineation  of  character,  as  Shakspeare's. 
It  not  only  grasps  the  diversities  of  rank,  sex,  and  age, 
down  to  the  dawnings  of  infancy ;  not  only  do  the  king 
and  the  beggar,  the  hero  and  the  pickpocket,  the  sage, 
and  the  idiot,  speak  and  act  with  equal  truth  ;  but  it  opens 
the  gates  of  the  magical  world  of  spirits,  calls  up  the 
midnight  ghost,  exhibits  before  us  his  \vitches  amidst 
their  unhallowed  mysteries,  peoples  the  air  with  sportive 
fairies  and  sylphs.  We  are  lost  in  astonishment  at  seeing 
the  extraordinary,  the  wonderful,  and  the  unheard-of,  in 
such  intimate  nearness." 

"  He  gives  a  living  picture  of  all  the  most  minute  and 
secret  artifices  by  which  a  feeling  steals  into  our  souls ; 
of  all  the  imperceptible  advantages  which  it  there  gains ; 
of  all  the  stratagems  by  which  every  other  passion  is 
made  subservient  to  it,  till  it  becomes  the  sole  tyrant 
of  our  desires  and  our  aversions.  He  has  never  var- 
6 


62 

nished  over  wild  and  blood-thirsty  passions  with  a  pleas- 
ing exterior, — never  clothed  crime  and  want  of  principle 
with  a  false  show  of  greatness  of  soul." 

The  next  name  of  note  in  English  literature  is  Ben 
Jonson.  His  plays  are  very  far  inferior  to  Shakspeare's, 
and  his  miscellaneous  poems  are  now  little  known ;  a 
few  specimens  will  continue  to  hold  their  places  in  col- 
lections of  English  poetry. 

Jeremy  Taylor  may  be  considered  as  having  added 
much  to  the  literature  of  his  country.  He  was  born 
about  the  year  1600,  and  on  the  accession  of  Charles 
the  Second  was  promoted  to  a  bishopric.  His  "  Holy 
Living,"  "  Holy  Dying,"  and  many  of  his  sermons, 
still  hold  their  place  as  favorites  with  the  intelligent  and 
serious.  His  works  possess  much  originality,  brilliant 
imagery,  and  all  the  vivid  and  glowing  conceptions  of 
poetry. 

Like  Sirius  among  the  ever-during  gems  of  night, 
shines  the  next  name  in  England's  coronet  of  genius. 
A  critic,  analyzing  the  character  of  Milton,  says, — 
"  He  has  sublimity  in  the  highest  degree  ;  beauty  in  an 
equal  degree ;  pathos  next  to  the  highest  ;  perfect  char- 
acter in  the  conception  of  Satan,  Adam,  and  Eve ; 
fancy,  learning,  vividness  of'  description,  stateliness,  de- 
corum. His  style  is  elaborate  and  powerful,  and  his 
versification,  with  occasional  harshness  and  affectation, 
superior  in  harmony  and  variety  to  all  other  blank  verse  ; 
it  has  the  effect  of  a  piece  of  fine  music." 

Next  to  Milton,  in  time,  comes  Dryden.  His  "Alex- 
ander's Feast"  is  still  read  as  a  lesson  in  elocution  ; 
but,  generally,  his  works  contain  glaring  defects,  that 
render  them  unsuitable  for  young  ladies.  A  poet  of 


ENGLISH    LITERATURE.  63 

a   later  day  has   thus    characterized   Milton   and   Dry* 
den :  — 


"He  that  rode  sublime 
Upon  the  seraph  wings  of  ecstasy, 
The  .secrets  of  the  abyss  to  spy. 
He  passed  the  flaming  bounds  of  space  and  time; 
The  living  throne,  the  sapphire  blaze, 
Where  angels  tremble  while  they  gaze ; 
He  saw,  but,  blasted  with  excess  of  light, 
Closed  his  eyes  in  endless  night. 
Behold  where  Dryden's  less  presumptuous  car 
Wide  o'er  the  fields  of  glory  bear 
Two  coursers  of  ethereal  race, 

With  necks  in  thunder  clothed,  and  long  resounding  pace. 
Hark,  his  hands  the  lyre  explore ! 
Bright-eyed  Fancy,  hovering  o'er, 
Scatters  from  her  pictured  urn 
Thoughts  that  breathe  and  words  that  burn.;' 


Sir  William  Temple,  Locke,  Stillingfleet,  and  Tillot- 
son  are  among  the  elegant  prose-writers  of  this  period. 

The  old  English  writers,  prose  and  verse,  have  been 
called  from  their  retreats  and  presented  to  modern  eyes, 
adorned  with  all  the  graces  of  elegant  typography  and 
splendid  binding.  No  excuse  can  no^.be  found  for 
ignorance.  Many  names  of  lesser  note  appear,  mingled 
with  those  of  the  first  order,  whose  works  will  gratify 
curiosity  and  give  pleasure. 

Another  luminous  period  in  English  literature  is 
adorned  with  the  names  of  Pope,  Addison,  Steele, 
Swift,  and  a  host  of  secondaries,  —  poets,  philosophers, 
and  statesmen,  distinguished  for  genius,  and  still  more 
for  elegance  of  style.  At  this  time  the  English  lan- 
guage appears  to  have  received  its  most  perfect  polish. 
Wanting  in  the  strength  and  spirit  that  characterized  a 


64  THE  YOUNG  LADY^S  HOME. 

former  period,  it  was  now  adorned  with  all  the  grace 
and  beauty  of  which  it  is,  perhaps,  susceptible. 

Then  follow  Thomson,  Collins,  Shenstone,  Akenside, 
Gray,  Goldsmith,  Dr.  Johnson,  Mrs.  Chapone,  Mrs. 
Elizabeth  Carter,  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  Burke,  &c., 
differing  as  "  one  star  differs  from  another  in  glory," 
shedding  a  benign  influence  on  every  succeeding  age. 

Since  the  American  Revolution,  our  literature  may 
be  included  with  that  of  England  and  Scotland,  for  the 
latter  country  has  contributed  largely  to  the  general  stock. 
The  present  century  thus  far  has  been  a  lustrous  period, 
and  will  doubtless  in  subsequent  times  be  called  another 
golden  age  in  literature,  another  era  of  invention. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

COMPOSITION. 

Books,  paper,  pencil,  pen,  and  slate, 
And  columned  scrolls  of  ancient  date, 
Before  her  lie,  on  which  she  looks 
With  searching  glance,  and  gladly  brooks 
An  irksome  task." — JOANNA  BAILLIE. 

IED  defence  of  woman's  rights  might  do  for 
an  of  Constantinople.  All  the  rights  which 
;o  claim  are  allowed  in  this  blessed  country. 

danger  now  is,  that  she  may  overstep  the 
ich  modesty  and  delicacy  prescribe,  and  come 
Don  that  arena  of  strife  which  ought  to  belong 
r  to  man.  All  such  encroachments  should  be 
pon  by  an  enlightened  community,  for  "  they 

masculine  boldness  or  restless  independence, 
ms  by  its  sallies  or  wounds  by  its  inconsisten- 
'he  bold  and  fearless  spirit  with  which  men 
lie  discussion  and  controversy  well  becomes 

it  should  excite  our  admiration  without  pro- 
emulation.  The  paths  that  are  open  to  us  are 
t  they  lie  along  "  the  cool,  sequestered  vale." 
the  vicissitudes  of  life,  that  we  need  all  the 
which  can  be  accumulated.  Few  of  you,  my 
robably  either  expect  or  wish  to  become  au- 

but  you  all  wish  to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  lite- 
d  will  not  deny  the  utility  of  being  able  to  write 
ions  and  pleasing  style.  Were  it  only  for  the 

(65) 


66 

/ 

sake  of  those  "winged  messengers  of  love"  despatched 
to  absent  friends,  you  need  an  agreeable  vehicle  of 
thought.  Letters  should  never  be  carelessly  written  ; 
the  style  may  be  easy  and  graceful,  and  at  the  same  time 
show  that  care  and  attention  which  is  a  mark  of  respect 
to  the  person  addressed.  Even  the  folding  and  super- 
scription of  a  letter  tell  something  of  the  character  of 
the  writer,  and  the  deference  she  deems  due  to  her  cor- 
respondents. In  early  life  we  are  not  aware  what  insight 
these  trifles  give  to  the  character  and  feelings,  to  those 
who  have  knowledge  and  experience.  Far  be  it  from 
you  to  cultivate  the  exterior  graces  alone ;  the  respect 
and  regard  should  be  felt,  of  course,  and  a  careful  ex- 
pression of  it  should  be  exhibited.  A  letter  ought  to  be 
written  in  legible,  neat,  and,  if  possible,  elegant  hand- 
writing ;  not  that  delicate  cobweb  scribble,  which  costs 
more  to  read  than  it  is  generally  worth.  When  a  letter 
is  franked,  or  sent  by  a  private  conveyance,  it  should 
be  folded  in  an  envelope  as  neatly  as  possible.  Fashion 
regulates  the  mode  of  sealing  ;  sometimes  a  single  wafer 
is  deemed  almost  an  insult ;  the  fastidious  Chesterfield 
thought  it  so  ;  at  other  times  it  is  preferred  by  those  who 
are  tired  of  the  sickly  sentimentality  of  mottoes.  Suffi- 
cient attention  should  be  paid,  even  to  this  seeming  trifle, 
to  know  what  is  the  custom  of  the  day,  and  to  follow  it. 
Many  fine  examples  of  the  epistolary  style  are  to  be 
found  in  the  English  language.  Miss  More  could  lay 
aside  her  elaborate  style,  and  all  the  pomp  of  diction 
which  she  could  use  on  occasion,  for  the  simple,  playful 
language  of  confiding  friendship.  Some  of  her  letters 
are  delightful,  and  many  of  her  learned  correspondents 
have  given  fine  specimens  of  easy,  sprightly,  and  grace- 
ful letters.  Charles  Lamb's  letters,  for  vivacity,  warmth, 


COMPOSITION.  67 

and  colloquial  simplicity,  are  unrivalled.  Sir  Walter 
Scott's  letters  to  Miss  Baillie  and  other  friends,  are 
charming,  though  they  deal  less  than  we  could  wish  in 
the  domestic  details  which  he  could  render  so  amusing. 
Cowper,  and  his  friend  the  Rev.  John  Newton's  letters 
have  been  universally  admired.  There  is  in  Washing- 
ton's epistolary  writing,  not  only  the  dignified  simplicity 
that  we  should  of  course  expect,  but  a  pleasing,  easy 
style.  The  letters  of  Franklin  are  so  characteristic  of  the 
man  as  to  be  very  amusing.  They  are  written  in  the 
concise  and  spirited  style  of  his  other  writings,  and 
ornamented  with  occasional  flashes  of  wit  and  humor. 
Modern  memoirs  furnish  many  excellent  examples  of 
this  kind  of  composition  ;  so  many,  indeed,  that  it  would 
be  impossible  here  to  name  them.  None  of  them  should 
be  imitated,  however,  as  models ;  a  letter,  to  be  agree- 
able, should  be  individual ;  that  is,  it  should  show  ex- 
actly the  author. 

In  some  seminaries  for  young  ladies,  it  is  customary 
to  insist  upon  their  writing  poetry  for  a  school  exercise. 
O,  the  intolerable  burden  of  counting  out  lines  upon  the 
fingers,  and  making  them  match  to  words  from  the  rhym- 
ing dictionary !  Doubtless,  facility  in  versification  may 
be  thus  acquired,  by  long  practice,  where  there  is  no 
natural  ear  for  the  harmony  of  numbers.  The  altar  is 
built,  the  wood  is  laid,  but  wrhere  is  the  fire,  and  where 
the  burnt-offering?  Sentimental  scribblers,  puffed  up 
with  self-conceit,  they  are  in  danger  of  becoming ;  and 
it  is  difficult  to  conceive  of  any  advantage  to  be  derived 
from  forcing,  or  endeavouring  to  create,  a  talent  which  has 
not  been  bestowed  by  the  Almighty  Author  of  our  being. 

But  should  young  ladies  never  write  poetry?  If 
they  are  poeta  nascitur,  non  fit,  they  will  write  "  by 


68  THE  YOUNG  LADY5S  HOME. 

stealth  and  blush  to  find  it  fame ;"  not  because  it  is 
wrong,  but  true  genius  and  true  sensibility  are  ever  ac- 
companied by  modesty  and  a  high  standard  of  excel- 
lence. There  is  little  danger  to  be  apprehended  from 
repressing  the  early  exhibition  of  poetical  talent ;  if  it 
really  exist,  it  will  in  time  manifest  itself;  let  education 
be  judiciously  conducted,  and  the  mind  well-disciplined, 
and  it  will  not  extinguish  the  fire  of  genius,  but  (to  use 
a  homely  comparison)  find  fuel  for  it  to  act  upon. 

Exercises  in  prose  composition,  often  much  disliked 
at  school,  are  of  acknowledged  utility,  and  should  not 
now  be  discontinued.  Bacon  says,  —  "  He  seeth  how 
they  (his  thoughts)  look  when  turned  into  words."  We 
seldom  know  whether  we  have  thoughts  on  any  particu- 
lar subject  or  not,  until  we  endeavor  to  express  them, 
and  if  we  have,  the  expression  gives  to  them  more 
clearness  and  precision.  Often  when  some  idea  seems 
beautiful  as  it  floats  vaguely  in  the  mind,  it  is  painful 
to  find  how  all  the  beauty  vanishes  when  it  is  "turned 
into  words ;"  as  the  lovely  vision  of  the  painter's  fancy 
often  resists  all  his  attempts  to  fix  it  upon  canvass. 
The  conception  was  imperfect,  and  this  could  be  de- 
monstrated as  the  most  frequent  cause  of  failure  in  com- 
position. 

Coleridge  somewhere  says,  or  it  may  be  in  one  of 
his  translations  from  Schiller,  —  / 

"There  exist 

Few  fit  to  rule  themselves,  but  few  that  use 
Their  intellects  intelligently. 

Many,  perhaps,  who  feel  that  they  are  made  for 
something  better  than  mere  ephemera,  nevertheless  sup- 
press the  noble  aspirings  of  their  nature,  and  strive  to 
be  like  the  fluttering  myriads  around  them.  Unworthy 


COMPOSITION.  69 

effort!  you  may  for  a  time  tame  down  your  mind  to 
dull  mediocrity  ;  but  have  you  thus  gained  the  good-will 
of  those  for  whom  you  sacrifice  so  much  ?  No ;  they, 
even  they,  would  despise  you  for  trampling  under  foot 
the  glorious  riches  of  genius.  You  may  be  unfavorably 
situated  for  the  cultivation  of  mind,  for  it  is  "  not  pos- 
sible for  the  best  minds  to  attain  their  full  development 
but  amid  an  atmosphere  highly  charged  with  the  electri- 
city of  thought,"  yet,  to  the  Giver  you  are  accountable 
for  all  his  gifts,  and  your  means  are  proportioned  to 
your  responsibilities.  Although  every  one  is  thus  bound 
to  use  the  talents  that  God  has  given,  none  need  covet 
the  possession  of  genius ;  well  might  the  sainted  Hemans 
exclaim, — 

"A  mournful  gift  is  mine,  0  friends! 
A  mournful  gift  is  mine." 

Something  might  here  be  said  of  the  importance  of 
the  study  of  grammar  and  philology.  They  fill  so  con- 
spicuous a  place  in  the  modern  system  of  school  educa- 
tion, that  it  may  be  deemed  unnecessary  to  recommend 
them  for  farther  attention.  The  philosophy  of  language 
is  seldom  understood  by  the  young,  and  you  would 
doubtless  derive  much  advantage  from  a  thorough  ex- 
amination of  this  subject.  Home  Tooke's  Diversions 
of  Purley  afford  amusement  and  profound  knowledge 
on  this  subject ;  Campbell's  Rhetoric  is  not  generally 
employed  as  a  class-book,  and  should  by  all  means  be 
attentively  read,  as  should  also  Alison  on  Taste,  and 
Burke  on  the  Sublime  and  Beautiful. 


CHAPTER  X. 

MODERN  LANGUAGES. 


"Frenche  she  spake  ful  faire  and  fetisely, 
After  the  school  of  Stratford  at  Bowe, 
For  Frenche  of  Paris  was  to  her  unknowe." 

CHAUCER. 


WHEN  female  education  is  conducted  in  a  very  lib- 
eral manner,  young  ladies  acquire  a  knowledge  of  Latin, 
and  occasionally  of  Greek.  A  good  knowledge  of  Latin 
furnishes  so  excellent  a  foundation  for  modern  languages, 
that  you  may  deem  it  a  valuable  possession.  The 
French,  being  a  language  so  universally  spoken,  has  long 
been  considered  indispensable  to  a  young  lady's  educa- 
tion ;  from  the  imperfect  way  in  which  it  is  usually  ac- 
quired, as  a  spoken  language,  it  can  be  of  little  use.  In 
many  cases,  the  difficulty  of  gaining  a  correct  pronuncia- 
tion and  accent  is  so  great,  that  it  is  not  advisable  to 
make  the  attempt.  To  be  able  to  read  and  wrrite  it  well, 
is  much  better  than  the  useless  smattering  which  many 
possess.  If  the  foundation  has  been  well  laid  at  school, 
you  can  continue  to  perfect  yourself  in  the  language, 
without  the  aid  of  a  teacher.  You  have  already  become 
familiar  with  the  amiable  Madame  Cottin  and  Madame 
de  Genlis,  arid  can  now  perhaps  enjoy  Moliere,  Racine, 
Corneille,  and  Madame  de  Stael.  In  cultivating  a 

(70) 


MODERN    LANGUAGES.  71 

knowledge  of  this  language,  however,  beware  of  becom- 
ing too  familiar  with  modern  French  literature.  Better 
to  be  ignorant  of  it  entirely,  than  to  learn  it  from  the 
debasing,  corrupting  pages  of  French  fictitious  writing. 
Among  modern  lady  authors,  Mesdames  Guizot,  De 
Saussure,  and  Necker  furnish  unexceptionable  reading ; 
but  be  careful  to  learn  their  character  before  you  venture 
upon  French  books.* 

The  Italian  is  easily  acquired  after  the  French.  The 
sweet  strains  of  Tasso,  and  the  sublime  visions  of  Dante 
and  Ariosto,  cannot  be  perfectly  transfused  into  another 
language.  Modern  Italy  can  boast  of  much  that  is  inter- 
esting in  elegant  literature,  besides  the  splendid  Alfieri, 
and  the  well-known  letters  of  Ganganelli.  Silvio  Pellico, 
whose  long  and  cruel  confinement  at  Spielberg  has  been 
made  known  to  the  world  by  that  most  interesting  book, 
Mia  Prigione,  which  has  been  translated  into  many  lan- 
guages, has  written  pure,  classical  drama,  which  may 
safely  be  placed  in  your  hands.  The  Spanish  can  be 
added  with  so  little  trouble,  after  French  and  Italian, 
that  it  should  not  be  neglected ;  it  is  a  beautiful  and 
dignified  language.  The  German,  as  it  is  much  more 
difficult,  will  remain  with  a  favored  few  ;  but  such  are 
its  treasures,  that  time  arid  labor  would  not  be  wasted  in 
its  acquisition.  German  literature  has  a  freshness  and 
vigor  of  thought,  a  strength  and  raciness  of  style,  beyond 
comparison. 


*  The  following  brief  list  of  French  authors  may  possibly  be  of 
some  assistance  to  the  young  reader  in  the  choice  of  books:  — 
Montaigne,  Corneille,  La  Fontaine,  Moliere,  Pascal,  Madame  cle  Se- 
vigne,  Bossuet,  Flechier,  Bourdaloue,  Racine,  Fenelon,  Rollin,  Mas- 
sillon,  Saurin,  Montesquieu,  Buffon,  Barthelemy,  D'Alembert,  Saint 
Pierre,  Delille,  La  Harpe,  Madame  de  Stael,  Chateaubriand,  Cuvier, 
Sismondi,  Guizot,  Cousin,  Lamartine,  Deiavigne. 


Because  Milton  has  said,  forsooth,  that  "  one  tongue 
is  enough  for  any  woman,"  and  thousands  of  meaner 
minds  have  echoed  and  reechoed  this  saying,  fear  not ; 
we  live  in  another  age,  the  charge  of  bas-bleuism  is  no 
longer  a  bugbear.  The  great  danger  is,  of  becoming 
mere  smatterers.  The  scanty  gleaning  of  the  school- 
room should  not  content  you ;  go  on  with  every  thing 
\vhich  you  have  commenced  there,  until  you  make  your- 
self mistress  of  it.  Having  begun  to  build,  do  not  incur 
the  ridicule  that  falls  upon  him  who  is  not  able  to  finish. 
Read  at  least  a  chapter  in  your  French  or  Italian  Testa- 
ment every  day ;  if  you  have-  leisure,  take  up  some 
standard  work,  read  it  critically,  and  write  out  its  beau- 
tiful passages  in  your  note-book;  this  is  an  admirable 
way  to  fix  a  language  in  memory. 


CHAPTER  XL 

CULTIVATION  OF  TASTE. 

«  Blest  be  the  art  that  can  immortalize  ; 
The  art  that  baffles  time's  tyrannic  claim 
To  quench  it." — COWPER. 

IN  every  country  the  useful  arts  must  first  occupy 
attention ;  as  wealth  and  luxury  increase,  the  ornamental 
follow.  In  our  country,  mind  has  been,  till  recently, 
occupied  upon  government,  laws,  religion,  health,  com- 
merce and  the  mechanical  arts.  This  has  been  thrown 
upon  us  as  a  reproach  ;  but  in  the  infancy  of  a  country 
these  are  the  legitimate  objects  for  the  energies  of  mind. 
If  it  be  averred,  that  the  efforts  for  the  mere  accumu- 
lation of  wealth,  and  the  immense  amount  of  invention 
expended  upon  the  means  to  facilitate  its  acquisition, 
are  a  waste  of  mental  power,  there  is  truth  in  the  asser- 
tion. But  the  time  is  past  when  questions,  such  as 
Edinburgh  Reviewers  were  wont  to  ask,  were  unan- 
swerable. "Who  reads  an  American  book?"  Every 
body.  "  Who  ever  heard  of  an  American  painter  or 
sculptor?"  Leslie,  Sully,  Cole,  Weir,  Greenough, 
Augur,  Clevenger,  Powers,  and  many  more,  have  an- 
swered upon  the  speaking  canvas  and  breathing  marble. 

Our  countrymen  have  shown  great  ingenuity  in  the 
mechanical  arts ;  we  know  not  why  they  may  not  in 
time  become  equally  distinguished  for  genius  in  the  fine 

7  (73) 


74  THE  YOUNG  LADY'S  HOME. 

arts.  Whenever  the  taste  of  the  people  demands  grati- 
fication, artists  will  find  compensation  for  their  labors, 
and  be  stimulated  to  exertion  ;  genius  will  be  called 
forth  from  her  retreat,  and  find  patrons  even  in  a  re- 
public. During  the  revolutions  which  have  overturned 
Europe,  many  specimens  of  the  masters,  that  had  been 
kept  from  age  to  age  in  the  cabinets  of  the  prince  and 
the  noble,  have  found  their  way  to  this  country.  Our 
artists,  too,  have  such  facilities  for  going  abroad,  that 
they  may  be  found  studying  in  the  galleries*  of  Italy, 
France,  and  Germany ;  in  the  cathedrals  of  Spain ; 
seated  on  the  prostrate  columns  of  the  Parthenon,  the 
pride  and  glory  of  Athens ;  or  sketching,  amid  the  once 
mysterious  glories  of  Egypt,  the  splendid  temples  of 
Karnac  and  Luxor.  A  taste  for  the  higher  efforts  in 
painting  and  sculpture  must  depend  upon  the  culti- 
vation of  the  imagination.  It  is  that  which  must  give 
life  and  reality  to  the  representations  of  the  painter  and 
sculptor. 

Drawing  is  a  fashionable  accomplishment  for  young 
ladies ;  unfortunately,  it  is  seldom  any  thing  more  than 
the  mechanical  ability  to  draw  a  brush  over  theorems 
cut  by  the  teacher,  or  at  least  to  copy  with  cold  cor- 
rectness ;  or,  it  may  be,  to  paint  sprawling  Cupids  and 
glaring  rosebuds,  to  decorate  an  album.  When  the  art 
is  taught  as  it  should  be,  it  improves  the  taste  for  fine 
pictures,  and  for  landscape  in  nature  ;  it  quickens  the 
perception  of  beauty  in  all  its  infinite  variety. 

Although  many  may  derive  pleasure  from  drawing,  as 
amateurs,  few  will  become  artists.  It  is  an  art  in  which, 
however,  young  ladies  who  have  genius  may  excel,  and 
practise  even  for  a  support.  There  are  numerous  ex- 
amples for  the  encouragement  of  female  artists,  from 


CULTIVATION    OF    TASTE.  75 

Angelica  Kaufmann  down  to  the  lady  miniature-painters 
whose  beautiful  pictures  ornament  our -exhibition  rooms. 
And  so  few  are  the  ways  in  our  country  in  which  females 
can  gain  an  honorable  independence,  that  this  one  is 
worthy  of  particular  attention. 

A  knowledge  of  the  rise  and  progress  of  Architecture 
ought  to  be  acquired  by  every  well-informed  lady.  She 
ought,  not  only  to  be  familiar  with  the  established  orders, 
but  with  the  terms  of  the  art,  to  enjoy  fully  the  descrip- 
tions of  travellers,  and  the  minute  views  of  buildings  in 
engraved  representations.  From  ignorance  on  this  sub- 
ject, much  that  is  interesting  in  all  modern  tours  and 
sketches  must  be  unintelligible.  The  pleasure  derived 
from  seeing  a  fine  building,  too,  will  be  greatly  enhanced 
by  knowing  something  of  the  style  in  which  it  is  built. 
The  simple,  chaste  Doric,  the  graceful  Ionic,  the  more 
elaborate  and  beautiful  Corinthian,  stand  unrivalled  mo- 
dels down  to  the  present  day.  The  Romans  claim  two 
orders,  the  Tuscan  and  Composite ;  but  they  are  in  part 
but  alterations  and  additions  to  the  Ionic  and  Corinthian, 
and  far  from  being  improvements.  Then  the  Gothic, 
the  elaborate,  magnificent  Gothic,  so  perfectly  suited  to 
the  solemn  grandeur  of  the  cathedral  and  the  church  ; 
the  mingled  style  of  St.  Peter's,  and  the  many  splendid 
European  specimens  of  modern  architecture,  —  all  these 
furnish  a  wide  world  of  taste,  that  will  richly  reward  the 
home-student,  as  well  as  the  traveller. 

Music.  While  the  ear  is  sensible  to  melody,  and  the 
voice  capable  of  producing  it,  music  will  remain,  to 
every  "  nation,  kindred,  people,  and  language,"  a  source 
of  exquisite  pleasure.  Let  those,  then,  who  are  gifted 
with  genius  for  this  divine  art  cultivate  it  as  they  should 
every  other  "  good  and  perfect  gift ;"  not  as  a  means 


76  THE  YOUNG  LADY's  HOME. 

of  gratifying  vanity,  but  of  contributing  to  human  happi- 
ness. Surely,  it  is  a  glorious  privilege  which  the  few 
possess,  to  be  able  to  thrill  with  delight,  or  to  solemnize 
to  deep  devotion,  or  to  rouse  to  enthusiasm  ;  a  privilege 
for  which  they  should  be  grateful  to  Him  who  made  the 
air  susceptible  of  such  infinite  variety  of  pleasing  sounds, 
and  gave  the  power  to  call  them  forth. 

But  a  fondness  for  music  is  so  universal,  that  the  dan- 
ger is,  that  young  ladies  will  devote  too  much  time  to  its 
acquisition.  Those  who  have  no  genius  must  sacrifice 
years,  and,  after  all,  give  little  pleasure  by  their  mere 
mechanical  performance.  But  fashion  wills  it,  and  who 
dares  to  dispute  the  despot  ?  Her  martyrs  at  the  piano 
and  the  harp  we  may  pity,  but  cannot  rescue.  Are 
they  not  wasting  there  the  energies  given  them  for  other 
and  nobler  purposes?  Can  they  not  confer  happiness 
in  other  ways,  less  costly  and  more  enduring  ?  What 
an  immense  amount  of  good  might  be  done,  if  all  the 
hours  wasted  in  the  vain  attempt  to  become  skilled  in 
music  were  devoted  to  the  cause  of  philanthropy ! 

It  is  pleasing  to  observe  that  a  better  taste  in  music 
characterizes  the  present  day.  Instead  of  those  displays 
of  brilliant  execution  which  astonished  without  giving 
pleasure,  we  have  more  of  the  sentiment  of  music. 
Singing,  too,  has  greatly  improved  ;  in  lieu  of  the  un- 
intelligible jargon  which  might,  for  all  the  auditors  could 
tell,  be  the  language  of  Afghanistan,  we  now  have  the 
benefit  of  the  words,  which  probably  the  authors  intend- 
ed should  be  heard  ;  excepting  some  objectionable  songs, 
which,  instead  of  being  slurred  and  mumbled  over,  had 
better  be  omitted  entirely.  Even  the  punctuation  and  the 
emphasis  of  the  language  can  be  preserved  without  injur- 


CULTIVATION    OF   TASTE.  77 

ing  the  expression  of  the  music,  «  linked  to  immortal 
verse." 

But,  fair  readers,  let  those  of  you,  whose  musical  tal- 
ents can  thus  afford  pleasure,  yield  to  solicitation  without 
affected  reluctance.  Who  is  not  tired  of  the  rigmarole 
reiterated  in  every  drawing-room,  "  bad  cold,"  "  out  of 
voice,"  "  only  sing  a  little,"  "  never  play  for  company," 
&c.,  &c.?  In  fact,  it  is  almost  considered  a  want  of 
modesty  to  play  for  company,  until  you  have  exhaust- 
ed every  body's  patience  in  urgent  entreaties.  All  who 
understand  human  nature  will  confess,  there  is  much 
more  true  delicacy  and  modesty  in  the  young  lady, 
who,  dreading  to  be  so  long  the  object  of  exclusive  atten- 
tion, yields  to  entreaty  without  all  this  coquettish  delay. 
And  be  not  displeased  if  there  are  persons  in  society,  still 
so  barbarous  as  to  prefer  animated  intellectual  conversa- 
tion, where  there  is  harmony  of  mind  produced  by  vari- 
ety, to  all  but  the  most  exquisite  music. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

PHYSICAL  EDUCATION. 

"  Dearly  earned  is  the  volume's  wealth, 

That  opes  to  the  lamp  at  night, 
While  the  fairer  ray  of  hope  and  health 
Goes  out  by  the  sickly  light." 

MRS.  HALE. 

IT  has  been  thought  vulgar  to  possess  health,  —  rude 
health  ;  not  that  any  one  would  acknowledge  herself  so 
ridiculously  absurd,  yet  the  old  adage  in  this  case  is 
true,  —  "  Actions  speak  louder  than  words."  It  is  gen- 
erally believed  that  beautiful,  fragile  beings,  too  delicate 
to  meet  the  first  rude  blast  without  shrinking,  are  the 
most  interesting  to  those  arbiters  whose  taste  is  all- deci- 
sive on  this  matter.  Man,  strong  and  robust,  likes  to  be 
the  defender  and  protector  of  the  weak ;  he  likes,  too, 
that  his  superiority  should  be  felt  and  acknowledged.  The 
natural  delicacy  and  weakness  of  the  other  sex  are  thus 
fostered.  That  it  should  be  so,  is  owing  to  a  refined 
state  of  society  which  has  its  many  advantages,  and  this 
one,  among  its  evils.  But  the  arduous,  imperative  du- 
ties that  in  life's  progress  devolve  upon  woman  call  for 
physical,  as  well  as  mental,  vigor.  To  hover  around 
the  couch  of  sickness,  and  smooth  the  pillow  of  the  dy- 
ing; to  bear  patiently  with  the  querulous  impatience  of 
the  aged,  and  the  petulance  of  childhood  ;  to  lead  into 
the  right  path  the  boisterous  waywardness  of  youth  ;  and 
to  soothe,  by  unwearied  kindness,  tempers  rendered 

(78) 


PHYSICAL    EDUCATION.  79 

harsh  and  irritable  by  intercourse  with  a  cold,  unfeeling 
world;  —  are  not  these  a  part  of  her  humble  ministry? 
It  seems  preposterous  to  urge  the  necessity  of  health ; 
yet  when  we  consider  the  many  ways  in  which  it  is 
heedlessly  injured,  we  may  infer  that  it  is  considered  of 
little  importance.  Want  of  exercise  at  one  time,  and 
too  violent  exertion  at  another ;  exposure  to  cold  and 
dampness ;  imprudence  in  dress  and  diet ;  all  these  con- 
spire to  impair  the  constitution,  and  produce  premature 
old  age. 

Want  of  exercise.  Perhaps  you  have  no  regular 
system  with  regard  to  this,  and  spend  whole  days  in  lan- 
guid inactivity.  Occupied  with  reading  and  needle-work, 
days  pass  without  any  more  exercise  than  is  necessary 
to  take  you  from  one  room  to  another.  Your  reluctance 
to  move  demonstrates  the  vis  inertia  of  matter;  the 
slightest  labor  becomes  an  intolerable  burden.  Beware ! 
the  monster  dyspepsia  is  beckoning  you  for  one  of  his 
sallow,  meagre  train.  Escape  for  your  life!  Regular 
active  exercise  is  indispensable.  Walking,  riding,  and 
in  a  rainy  day,  or  on  other  days  if  it  be  possible,  active 
employment  within  doors.  If  your  situation  precludes 
the  necessity  for  assisting  in  keeping  the  house  in  order, 
you  can  fill  the  flower-vases,  tastefully  arrange  the  fur- 
niture, put  the  books  in  their  places,  keep  your  own 
room  in  the  neatest  possible  order,  and  find  many  either 
things  to  give  you  employment,  not  entirely  sedentary. 
"  Exercise  is  not  only  useful  in  adding  to  the  symmetry 
of  the  form,  but  also  in  lighting  up  and  invigorating  the 
spark  by  which  that  form  is  animated  and  beautified." 
It  is  a  wonderful  promoter  of  cheerfulness.  In  the  coun- 
try, the  care  of  a  garden,  and  the  delightful  walks  that 
abound,  offer  inducements  to  exercise  scarcely  to  be 


80 


THE  YOUNG  LADY7S  HOME. 


resisted  ;  in  town,  the  change  from  habitual  inactivity  to 
fatiguing  effort  is  exceedingly  injurious.  Standing  for 
two  or  three  hours  in  a  crowded  party,  or  dancing  a 
whole  evening,  is  often  attended  with  fatal  consequences. 
Coming  into  the  air,  after  being  heated  in  this  manner, 
often  induces  consumption.  Alas!  how  many  can  trace 
this  fell  disease  to  the  ball-room ! 

"  Away !  away !  there  is  danger  here,  — 
A  terrible  phantom  is  bending  near; 
Ghastly  and  sunk,  his  rayless  eye 
Scowls  on  thy  loveliness  scornfully ; 
With  no  human  look,  with  no  human  breath, 
He  stands  beside  thee,  —  the  haunter  DEATH. 

"  In  the  lighted  hall  where  the  dancers  go, 
Like  beautiful  spirits,  to  and  fro, — 
When  thy  fair  arms  glance  in  their  stainless  white, 
Like  ivory  bathed  in  the  still  moonlight, 
And  not  one  star  in  the  holy  sky 
Hath  a  clearer  light  than  thine  own  blue  eye,  — 

"0,  then,  even  then,  he  will  follow  thee, 
As  the  ripple  follows  the  bark  at  sea; 
In  the  softened  light,  in  the  turning  dance, 
He  will  fix  on  thine  his  dead,  cold  glance; 
The  chili  of  his  breath  on  thy  cheek  shall  linger, 
And  thy  warm  blood  shrink  from  his  icy  finger!" 

Our  climate  is  so  variable,  that  its  changes  should  be 
carefully  guarded  against.  Warm  and  comfortable  cloth- 
ing, and  shoes  impervious  to  dampness,  if  not  recom- 
mended by  the  Graces,  good  sense  and  prudence  will 
insist  upon.  The  American  ladies,  in  this  respect,  are 
perhaps  more  imprudent  than  any  in  the  wide  world. 
It  is  a  ridiculous  vanity  to  expose  life  itself  for  the  sake 
of  exhibiting  a  pretty  foot  in  the  most  becoming  attire, 
—  a  paper-soled  kid  or  satin  shoe  upon  a  cold  or  damp 
pavement ! 

So  much  has  been  said  upon  the  subject  of  tight- 


PHYSICAL    EDUCATION.  81 

lacing,  that  little  need  be  added  here.  The  tocsin  of 
alarm  has  sounded  through  every  land  where  the  pre- 
posterous fashion  reigns.  You  have  seen  the  Venus  de 
Medici  contrasted  with  a  modern  belle;  which  did  you 
most  admire  ?  Undoubtedly  the  latter, — for  thus  fashion 
blinds  to  true  symmetry  and  perverts  the  taste. 

Physicians  have  been  faithful  in  reporting  the  deaths 
occasioned  by  these  unnatural  contortions,  and  sur- 
geons have  dissected  the  miserable  victims.  What 
more  can  be  done  ?  Forewarned  thus,  no  more  can  be 
said.  As  rational  beings,  —  as  accountable  ones, — 
abstain  from  a  practice  so  deleterious,  so  wicked. 

With  regard  to  diet.  A  caution  is  necessary  against 
cake,  sweetmeats,  and  confectionary.  A  surfeit  of 
sweets  deranges  the  system,  and  should  be  carefully 
avoided.  A  healthful,  wholesome  appetite  should  be 
desired,  and  an  indulgence  in  these  articles  at  every 
hour  in  the  day  will  soon  destroy  it.  There  is  a  mor- 
bid delicacy  in  regard  to  eating,  which  is  absurd ;  be- 
cause Byron  in  his  squeamishness  could  not  bear  to  see 
a  woman  eat,  some  ridiculous  coxcombs  affect  the  same 
antipathy,  and  many  a  young  lady  has  gone  fasting  in 
their  company,  rather  than  be  disgusting.  Really,  it 
would  seem  too  absurd  to  mention  such  a  thing,  were  it 
not  a  fact  that  some  young  ladies  seem  quite  troubled  if 
they  have  a  good  appetite,  and  make  many  apologies  for 
indulging  it.  It  may  be  gratified  without  the  gusto  of  a 
gourmand,  which  is  too  shocking.  A  refined  and  deli- 
cate manner  of  eating  is  expected,  of  course,  in  every 
young  lady. 

Among  the  means  of  preserving  health,  Franklin,  in 
his  letter  to  a  young  lady  "  On  the  Art  of  procuring 
Pleasant  Dreams,"  mentions  "  having  a  constant  supply 


82  THE  YOUNG  LADY's  HOME. 

of  fresh  air  in  your  bed-chamber.  It  has  been  a  great 
mistake,  the  sleeping  in  rooms  exactly  closed,  and  in 
beds  surrounded  by  curtains.  No  outward  air  that  may 
come  in  to  you  is  so  unwholesome  as  the  unchanged 
air,  often  breathed,  of  a  close  chamber. 

"Physicians,  after  having  for  ages  contended  that 
the  sick  should  not  be  indulged  with  fresh  air,  have  at 
length  discovered  that  it  may  do  them  good.  It  is  there- 
fore to  be  hoped,  that  they  may  in  time  discover,  like- 
wise, that  it  is  not  hurtful  to  those  in  health ;  and  that 
we  may  then  be  cured  of  the  aerophobia  that  at  present 
distresses  weak  minds,  and  makes  them  choose  to  be 
stifled  and  poisoned,  rather  than  leave  open  the  window 
of  a  bed-chamber,  or  put  down  the  glass  of  a  coach." 

Frequent  bathing  is  another  means  of  preserving 
health.  In  our  climate,  it  has  been  thought  that  neither 
the  cold  nor  the  warm  bath  should  be  used,  unless  pre- 
scribed by  a  physician.  The  water  should  be  slightly 
warmed  so  as  not  to  produce  a  chill,  and  not  warm 
enough  to  relax  the  system.  Ten  or  fifteen  minutes  is 
long  enough  to  remain  in  the  bath. 

The  Cold  Water  System,  so  popular  among  many 
modern  physicians,  is  quite  in  opposition  to  this  notion. 
"  Who  shall  decide  when  doctors  disagree  ?" 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

POLITENESS. 

'•There  is  nothing  so  difficult  to  learn,  as  the  kind  of  politeness 
which  is  neither  ceremonious  nor  familiar;  it  seems  a  trifle,  but  it 
requires  a  foundation  in  ourselves,  for  no  one  acquires  it,  if  it  is  not 
inspired  by  early  habit  or  elevation  of  mind." — MADAME  DK  STAEL. 

TRUE  politeness  has  its  origin  in  the  heart ;  but  the 
external  expression  of  it  is  what  is  commonly  called 
good-manners.  Who  has  not  acknowledged  its  charm, 
and  yielded  to  its  influence  ? 

1.  It  is  necessary  to  understand  the  customs  of  the 
place  where  you  are,  to  avoid  any  departure  from  con- 
ventional good-manners.  In  going  into  company,  a 
young  lady  should  learn  the  mode  of  entree.  In  most 
places  in  our  country,  it  is  customary  to  take  a  gentle- 
man's arm,  to  walk  up  to  the  lady  of  the  house  and  drop 
a  courtesy,  —  very  gracefully,  of  course.  If  this  is  the 
custom,  she  should  take  his  left  arm  here,  —  and  in 
walking,  riding,  entering  church,  and  at  the  hymeneal 
altar  the  left  side,  —  thus  leaving  his  right  arm  free. 
These  things  seem  trifling;  but  by  understandingjhem, 
much  embarrassment  may  be  escaped.  At  a  dinner- 
party, be  sure  to  know  before  you  leave  the  drawing- 
room,  whether  the  first  seat  at  the  table  belongs  of  right 
to  yourself;  if  so,  never  decline  it ;  if  it  does  not,  you 
will  find  yourself  very  awkwardly  situated,  if  some  gen- 

(83) 


84 

tleman,  not  knowing  his  own  place,  interfere  with  the 
arrangements  of  the  lady  of  the  house,  and  place  you  at 
her  right  hand.  A  quick  and  observant  eye  will  soon 
give  you  a  knowledge  of  any  local  peculiarities  in  eti- 
quette, to  which  you  can  readily  conform.  A  truly 
well-bred  lady  is  such  everywhere  ;  she  would  handle 
an  ivory  chop-stick  in  China  as  gracefully  as  a  silver 
fork  at  home,  or  a  steel  one,  if  she  happened  where  they 
used  no  other.  Even  if  it  should  have  but  two  prongs, 
and  incommode  her  not  a  little,  she  would  t^ke  no  notice 
of  it ;  for  true  politeness  avoids  giving  pain.  We  have 
seen  young  ladies  assume  such  airs,  —  on  occasions 
where  they  have  met  with  things  different  from  what 
they  have  been  accustomed  to  see  at  home,  —  such  airs 
as  made  them  quite  ridiculous.  The  spectators  proba- 
bly would  reason  in  this  way  :  —  "  You  may  have  eaten 
with  a  silver  fork  at  home,  but  you  are  no  lady." 

A  young  lady,  who  stopped  at  a  country  tavern  to 
dine,  perplexed  the  clumsy  waiter  by  calling  for  a  finger- 
glass,  and  annoyed  her  party  by  bitter  complaints  about 
the  vulgarity  of  a  place  where  they  had  never  heard  of 
such  an  article.  She  might  have  been  told  of  a  gentle- 
man,—  an  elegant  gentleman,  too,  —  of  the  old  school, 
who,  when  offered  the  finger-glasses  at  a  friend's  table, 
very  innocently  took  one,  and  drank  off  the  contents ; 
the  lady  of  the  house  immediately  perceiving  it,  called 
the  waiter,  as  if  for  some  other  duty,  and  ordered  him 
not  to  pass  them  around,  knowing  that  her  guests  would 
dispense  with  the  ceremony,  rather  than  give  pain  to  an 
extremely  polite  gentleman. 

2.  A  well-bred  woman  should  be  perfectly  self- 
possessed. 


POLITENESS.  85 

To  acquire  this,  a  young  lady  must  overcome  that 
natural  diffidence,  or  rather,  the  mauvaise  honte,  that  will 
otherwise  follow  her  like  her  shadow.  The  fashion- 
able nonchalance,  so  much  admired,  cannot  be  acquired 
without  sacrificing  much  that  is  interesting  in  female 
character.  Every  body  repeats,  "  When  a  girl  ceases  to 
blush,  she  has  lost  the  greatest  charm  of  beauty ;"  yet 
many  of  these  very  persons  insist  upon  that  imperturb- 
able self-command  in  a  young  lady,  which  cannot  be 
attained  without  some  loss  of  truthfulness  and  natural 
modesty.  Novelty  and  beauty  must  call  forth,  in  the 
unsophisticated  mind,  wonder  and  admiration  ;  there  is 
no  need  of  the  vociferous  exclamations  of  ignorance  and 
vulgarity,  nor  the  gaping  wonder  of  a  backwoodsman ; 
but  it  is  really  unjust  to  compel  the  young  to  suppress 
entirely  their  enthusiasm,  and  practise  the  nil  admirari. 
From  practising  this  show  of  indifference,  they  come  at 
last  to  feel  it,  and  half  the  pleasure  of  the  spring-time  of 
life  is  crushed,  and  the  mind  and  heart  hopelessly  in- 
jured. Even  the  attentive  and  observing  habit  of  mind, 
upon  which  so  much  depends,  is  destroyed,  and  those 
tame,  unmeaning  characters  are  formed,  who  move  about 
like  automata,  —  the  mindless  puppets  of  the  ball-room, 
—  the  pretty  "  wall  -  flowers  "  of  the  drawing-room. 
Every  well-educated  woman  should  be  self-controlled  ; 
this  comes  more  properly  under  moral  discipline,  yet  it 
should  form  the  foundation  of  that  self-possession  which 
is  to  be  desired, —  very  different  from  that  self-satisfied 
and  self-confident  manner,  which  is  so  disagreeable  in  a 
young  lady.  The  opposite  extreme  from  the  retiring 
diffidence  of  a  young  lady,  which  is  pardonable,  is  that 
noisy,  hoydenish  freedom  of  manner  which  is  not,  inas- 
8 


86  THE  YOUNG  LADv's  HoMC. 

much  as  it  is  extremely  troublesome,  as  well  as  contrary 
to  good  taste.  The  dull  monotony,  arising  from  the  Pro- 
crustean system  of  bringing  every  body  to  the  same  stan- 
dard of  quiescence,  can  be  borne  with  more  patience  than 
the  din  of  these  romps,  or  the  hue  and  cry  of  sentiment- 
alists, like  Dr.  Syntax,  in  search  of  the  picturesque.  The 
quiet,  unpretending  dignity  of  a  perfectly  polite  lady,  is 
as  far  removed  from  one  extreme  as  the  other. 

3.  Gracefulness    of  motion   is    delightful,    especially 
where  it  springs  from  an  innocent  and  free  spirit  retained 
from  childhood.     A  voice   "  sweet    and    low,"    and   a 
manner  courteous  and  gentle,  are  indeed  "excellent  in 
woman,"  but  they  should  flow  from  the  law  of  kindness 
written  in  the  heart.     These  pleasing  expressions  of  po- 
liteness should  not  be  neglected  ;  they  are  like  the  beau- 
tiful color  and  rich  perfume  of  the  flower,  or  the  grace- 
ful meandering  of  the  rivulet ;  who  denies  their  utility  ? 

4.  Due    deference    to    age    and    superiority.     The 
primness  of  boarding-school  misses  has  called  forth  suf- 
ficient animadversion  and  ridicule ;  there  is  little  danger 
that  these  manners  will  continue  long  after  their  emanci- 
pation from  the  stocks  and   back-board  ;  there  is  com- 
monly excitement,   and   pleasure    enough    in   recovered 
freedom,   to   overcome   the    temporary   formality  which 
has  been  thus  produced.     It  has  been  said  by  phrenolo- 
gists, that  the  organ  of  veneration,  or  reverence,  is  not 
largely  developed  in  this  country.     One  would  think  so, 
from    the    behaviour  of  young  ladies  at  public  places. 
The  best  places  are  yielded   by  courtesy  to  ladies  ;  but 
have  we  lost   all  respect  and   consideration  for  others  ?^ 
It  is  provoking  to  see  an  aged,  respectable  man  turned 
out  of  his  seat ;  (often  even  at  church,)  by  some  pert  girl 


POLITENESS.  87 

of  sixteen,  who  goes  there,  perhaps,  for  no  better  pur- 
pose than  to  exhibit  herself  and  her  finery.  She  might 
better  take  an  inferior  seat,  or  even  stand  for  an  hour  or 
two,  than  thus  incommode  the  infirm  and  venerable  man 
who  comes  to  listen  to  the  messenger  of  mercy,  it  may 
be  for  the  last  time.  Time  was,  when  gray  hairs  were 
honored,  when  elders  were  respected,  when  a  life  spent 
in  -the  service  of  the  country  was  a  title  to  veneration ; 
but  now,  0  tempora,  0  mores  ! 

At  public  places  young  ladies  cannot  be  too  quiet,  nor 
too  reserved;  here,  indeed,  "silence  is  gold."  Their 
chattering  and  giggling,  at  concerts  and  other  places, 
where  some  people  go  to  hear,  are  intolerable.  It  is  not 
only  ill-bred,  but  actually  unjust  thus  to  deprive  our 
neighbor  of  his  rights.  Who  does  not  dread  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  a  reigning  belle  on  such  occasions  ? 

It  is  a  grievous  fault  for  a  young  lady  to  be  so  exclu- 
sively occupied  with  the  gentlemen,  in  society,  as  to  pay 
no  attention  to  the  ladies ;  not  a  very  uncommon  fault, 
either.  A  beautiful  and  admired  lady,  the  centre  of  at- 
traction, appears  truly  lovely  when  she  endeavours  to 
make  others  appear  to  the  best  advantage,  and  when, 
seeking  out  some  modest,  retiring  girl,  who  has  retreated 
to  a  corner,  she  forgets  herself  in  contributing  to  the  en- 
joyment of  another.  The  older  ladies,  too,  have  a 
claim  upon  your  attention  ;  they,  to  be  sure,  do  riot 
like  to  be  neglected,  especially  when  they  act  the  chape- 
ron ;  doubtless  they  often  forego  their  own  pleasure 
thus  to  oblige  you,  and  it  is  ungrateful  to  show  yourself 
insensible  to  their  kindness.  Another  offending  trait,  is 
[hat  restlessness  and  impatience  that  may  be  observed 
when  others  are  the  objects  of  attention ;  an  eye  wan- 


00  THE    YOUNG    LADY  S    HOME. 

dering  in  pursuit  of.some  one  to  make  up  the  deficiency, 
or  seeking  for  some  more  acceptable  person  than  the 
one  who  is  endeavouring  to  make  himself  agreeable. 

Haughtiness  is  so  offensive  to  the  self-esteem  of  every 
one,  that  it  is  with  common  consent  pronounced  insuffer- 
able. Pride  may  exist  without  contempt,  \vhich  is  an 
essential  ingredient  in  haughtiness. 

That  confidential,  communicative  manner  with  gentle- 
men, commonly  called  jKrftrffcw,  cannot  be  too  severely 
reprehended.  Gentlemen  indulge  in  it  for  their  own 
amusement ;  but,  even  in  their  eyes,  it  stains  the  purity 
and  lessens  the  dignity  of  a  young  lady's  character. 
They  doubtless  often  think,  when  they  see  a  young  lady 
confirmed  in  this  habit,  something  like  what  Godfrey 
Percy,  in  Patronage,  says : — 

"Sir,  she's  yours;  from  the  grape  you  have  brushed  its  soft  blue, 
From  the  rose-bud  you  've  shaken  its  tremulous  dew  ; 
What  you  've  touched  you  may  take  ; — pretty  flirter,  adieu !  " 

Flirtation  should  hardly  have  been  mentioned  as  an 
offence  against  good  manners,  for  it  encroaches  upon 
good  morals,  good  taste  and  good-sense. 

It  has,  we  trust,  been  shown,  that,  after  due  attention 
has  been  paid  to  etiquette  and  those  forms  of  society 
that  are  conventional,  something  more  is  necessary  to 
constitute  true  politeness.  It  must  have  its  origin  in  the 
heart.  Where  shall  we  find  a  better  code  of  politeness 
than  the  one  furnished  us  by  St.  Paul  ; — it  "  suffereth  long 
and  is  kind,  seeketh  not  her  own,  is  not  easily  provoked, 
vaunteth  not  itself,  is  not  puffed  up,  doth  not  behave  it- 
self unseemly."  True,  he  calls  it  chanty;  but  where 
shall  we  find  anything  to  equal  it,  as  a  guide,  even  in 
what  we  term  good-manners?  Politeness,  in  order  to 


POLITENESS. 


be  easy,  must  be  habitual.  It  cannot  be  donned  and 
doffed,  as  readily  as  Goldsmith's  Chinese  philosopher 
said  an  English  fine  lady  could  put  on  and  off  her  com- 
pany face,  made  up  of  patches,  paint,  and  smiles.  Like 
a  fine  dress,  fine  manners,  to  be  pleasing,  must  not 
occupy  constantly  the  thoughts,  but  must  be  borne  about 
unconsciously,  as  if  "  part  and  parcel "  of  the  owner. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

WOMAN'S  HOME  INFLUENCE. 

"  Victoria.     I  'd  put  a  white  coif  o'er  my  braided  locks, 
And  be  a  plain,  good,  simple  dame! 

Albini.        And  is,  indeed,  a  plain  domestic  dame, 
Who  fills  the  duties  of  an  useful  state, 
A  being  of  less  dignity  than  she 
Who  vainly  on  her  transient  beauty  builds 
A  little,  poor,  ideal  tyranny? 

Isabella.     Ideal,  too! 

Jllbini.        Yes,  most  unreal  power  ; 

For  she,  who  only  finds  her  self-esteem 
In  others'  admiration,  begs  an  alms  ; 
Depends  on  others  for  her  daily  food, 
And  is  the  very  servant  of  her  slaves  ; 
Though  oftentimes  in  a  fantastic  hour 
O'er  men  she  may  a  childish  power  exert, 
Which  not  ennobles,  but  degrades,  her  state." 

BAILLIE. 


AMONG  the  refined  and  intellectual  Greek.^  woman 
occupied  a  very  subordinate  station.  Although  a  mere 
slave  to  her  haughty  lord,  not  acknowledged  as  possess- 
ing the  least  power  or  influence,  nevertheless,  if  we 
could  have  looked  into  their  hearts  and  homes,  a  strong 
under-current  might  have  been  discovered,  swaying  the 
movements  of  heroes,  philosophers,  and  statesmen. 

The  Roman  women  possessed  more  individuality  and 
strength  of  character,  than  the  light,  soft,  untaught 
Grecian  dames.  Their  influence  was  not  only  felt,  but 
acknowledged.  It  was  a  popular  subject  for  the  ridicule 
of  the  satirist,  and  of  grave  philosophical  inquiry  to  the 
(90) 


91 

moralist.  The  Roman  historians  have  portrayed  the 
characters  of  some  of  the  noblest,  and  some  of  the  vilest, 
of  the  sex.  Who  has  not  felt  a  glow  of  enthusiastic 
admiration  for  the  beautiful  matronly  virtues  of  a  Cor- 
nelia, and  a  blush  of  shame  and  indignation  that  woman- 
kind should  have  been  disgraced  by  a  Tullia  ? 

So  highly  were  domestic  virtues  prized  in  ancient 
Rome,  that  the  following  epitaph  was  deemed  worthy 
to  be  engraven  upon  the  splendid  tomb  of  a  Roman 
matron :  — 

"Domum  mansit,  —  lanum  fecit." 

Homely  and  faint  praise  would  it  be  thought  for  a 
modern  dame,  — 

"  In  her  own  house  she  staid, 
And  woollen  garments  made." 

But  all  Roman  women  were  not  such  mere  notables 
as  to  be  deserving  of  no  higher  eulogium.  Calphurnia, 
the  wife  of  Pliny,  was  his  friend,  counsellor,  and  intel- 
lectual companion.  Writing  to  Hispula,  the  aunt  who 
had  educated  her,  soon  after  his  marriage,  Pliny  says : — 
"  Her  ingenuity  is  admirable  ;  her  frugality  is  extra- 
ordinary. She  loves  me,  the  surest  pledge  of  her  vir- 
tue, and  adds  to  this  a  wonderful  disposition  to  learning , 
ivhich  she  has  acquired  from  her  affection  to  me.  She 
reads  my  writings,  studies  them,  and  even  gets  them  by 
heart ;  you  would  smile  to  see  the  concern  she  is  in 
when  I  have  a  cause  to  plead,  and  the  joy  she  shows 
when  it  is  over.  She  finds  means  to  have  news  brought 
to  her  of  the  success  I  meet  with  in  court,  how  I  am 
heard,  and  what  decree  is  made.  If  I  recite  any  thing 
in  public,  she  cannot  refrain  from  placing  herself  private- 
ly in  some  corner  to  hear,  where  with  the  utmost  delight 


92 

she  feasts  upon  my  applauses ;  sometimes  she  sings  my 
verses  and  accompanies  them  with  the  lute,  without 
any  master  except  love,  the  best  of  instructers.  From 
these  instances  I  take  the  most  certain  omens  of  our 
perpetual  and  increasing  happiness,  since  her  affection  is 
not  founded  on  my  youth  or  person,  which  must  gradu- 
ally decay,  but  she  is  in  love  with  the  immortal  part  of 
me,  my  glory  and  reputation."  In  a  letter  addressed  to 
Calphurnia  herself,  Pliny  thus  writes :  —  "You  tell  me 
you  are  very  much  afflicted  with  my  absence,  and  that  you 
have  no  satisfaction  in  any  thing  but  my  writings,  which 
you  often  lay  by  you  upon  your  pillow.  You  oblige  me 
very  much  in  wishing  to  see  me,  and  making  me  your 
comforter  in  my  absence.  In  return,  I  must  let  you 
know  I  am  no  less  pleased  with  the  letters  which  you 
write  to  me,  and  read  them  over  a  thousand  times  with 
new  pleasure." 

When  the  Roman  republic  had  increased  in  wealth, 
and  the  people  revelled  in  luxury,  the  women  retained 
not  their  primitive  industry  and  frugality.  How  were 
the  latter  days  of  Cicero  embittered  by  the  extravagance 
of  the  proud  Valeria !  As  she  brought  him  a  fortune, 
she  thought  she  had  a  right  to  indulge  her  expensive 
taste  to  the  utmost ;  this  involved  him  in  such  pecuniary 
embarrassment,  that  he,  after  enduring  it  many  years,  at 
length  divorced  her.  His  domestic  enjoyment,  however, 
was  not  insured  by  this  measure ;  for  soon  after,  marry- 
ing his  rich  and  beautiful  ward,  Publelia,  he  became  so 
unhappy  in  consequence  of  her  misconduct  that  he  repu- 
diated her. 

The  retired,  quiet  enjoyment  of  earlier  days  was  so 
rare  in  Rome  during  the  reigns  of  the  emperors,  that  a 
wife  like  Calphurnia,  possessing  "frugality,"  might  well 


WOMAN'S  HOME  INFLUENCE.  93 

be  deemed  a  wonderful  phenomenon.  The  folly  and 
extravagance  of  Roman  women  were  only  equalled  by 
Cleopatra  herself.  Their  time  was  spent  at  the  theatres, 
baths,  and  other  places  of  public  amusement,  and  the 
moral  influence  of  home  was  no  longer  felt  among  a 
degenerate,  corrupt  people,  hastening  to  their  downfall. 

The  inhabitants  of  northern  countries,  the  Germans, 
Saxons,  and  other  nations  of  the  Gothic  race,  were  dis- 
tinguished from  time  immemorial  for  their  considerate, 
dignified  treatment  of  women.  Among  the  Anglo- 
Saxons,  the  head  of  the  table,  as  in  modern  days,  was 
assigned  to  the  lady  of  the  house,  who  was  called  the 
bread-giver,  a  name  from  which  the  English  word  lady 
is  derived.  Much  of  the  time  was  spent  by  the  men  of 
these  rude  nations  in  social  enjoyment,  of  which  their 
wives  and  daughters  were  partakers.  Doubtless  their 
manners,  though  rough,  were  rendered  much  less  so  by 
this  circumstance.  How  shall  we  account  for  the  horri- 
ble custom  among  the  Anglo-Saxons,  of  selling  their 
beautiful  daughters  into  slavery  ?  The  temptations  of 
avarice  led  to  this  abominable  traffic  ;  and  the  fair  sons 
and  daughters  of  England  were  "  sold  like  cattle  in  all 
the  markets  of  Europe." 

Woman  owes  her  present  elevation  of  character  and 
condition  to  Christianity ;  in  all  countries  where  its  be- 
nign, holy  influence  is  unfelt,  she  is  still  an  unintellect- 
ual,  a  degraded  being, —  and  just  in  proportion  to  its 
purity  and  its  power  over  a  people,  is  her  domestic 
happiness.  In  France,  during  the  reigns  of  many  of  her 
volatile  and  vicious  sovereigns,  the  women  of  the  higher 
ranks  were  worshipped  as  goddesses,  ruling  the  court 
with  despotic  sway,  while  the  lower  ranks  were  treated 
like  field-slaves.  During  "the  Reign  of  Terror,"  what 


94 


were  the  women  of  France  ?  The  mind  recoils  and  the 
heart  shudders  at  the  contemplation  of  the  fiendlike  in- 
fluence they  exerted.  It  is  doubtful  if  at  any  time  there 
has  been  a  healthful  home-influence  exercised  by  woman 
upon  that  theatrical,  fickle  nation.  Their  language  does 
not  furnish  the  words  home  and  comfort,  and  they  live 
too  much  in  public  to  enjoy  either.  French  women, 
however,  have  given  examples  of  heroism,  fortitude, 
and  devoted  attachment,  that  have  few  parallels ;  the 
names  of  Mesdames  Lavalette,  Roland,  and  Lafayette 
will  readily  occur  to  the  memory.  They  have  more  sen- 
timent, enthusiasm,  and  romance,  than  English  women  ; 
and  less  principle,  stability,  and  good  sense.  Formerly, 
English  wives  were  said  to  be  the  best  in  the  world. 
One  of  the  old  writers,  Lord  Clarendon,  says  of  the 
days  of  his  grandfather,  \vho  lived  in  the  reign  of  James 
the  First,  —  "  The  wisdom  and  frugality  of  that  time 
were  such,  that  few  gentlemen  made  journeys  to  Lon- 
don, or  any  other  expensive  journey,  and  their  wives 
never  ;  by  which  providence  they  enjoyed  and  improved 
their  estates  in  the  country,  and  kept  good  hospitality  in 
their  house,  brought  up  their  children  well,  and  were  be- 
loved by  their  neighbours." 

In  these  comfortable  homes  were  nurtured  some  of 
the  strongest  minds  that  England  ever  produced ;  and 
thus  were  formed  some  of  those  admirable  wives,  whose 
influence  was  afterwards  perpetuated  in  New  England. 
The  national  character  was  far  more  moral,  and  more 
respectable,  than  in  the  dissolute  reign  of  Charles  the 
Second,  when  those  delightful  English  homes  had  been 
broken  up  by  civil  commotions,  and  London  became 
the  centre  of  gayety,  luxury,  and  dissipation.  The 
homely  virtues  were  then  quite  out  of  fashion ;  unfor- 


95 

tunately,  among  a  numerous  class  of  high-born  and 
wealthy  English  wives,  they  have  ever  since  been  con- 
sidered mauvais  ton.  Noble  and  honorable  exceptions 
there  are  at  this  day,  and  were,  even  during  that  season 
of  turmoil  and  strife.  During  the  reign  of  the  first 
Charles,  when  the  eloquence  of  Jeremy  Taylor  was 
often  wasted  upon  "  ears  polite,"  there  were  some  who 
listened  to  his  pungent  preaching,  doubtless,  with  intense 
interest.  He  has  left  us  a  portrait  of  one  of  these  old- 
fashioned  wives,  which  may  serve  as  a  model  of  excel- 
lence, even  for  our  own  times.  In  a  funeral  sermon, 
preached  on  the  death  of  the  Countess  of  Carberry,  the 
wife  of  Lord  Vaughan,  he  says,  in  his  usual  quaint  style, — 
"  I  must  be  forced  to  use  summaries  and  arts  of  abbre- 
viature, in  the  enumerating  those  things  in  which  this  rare 
personage  was  dear  to  God  and  all  her  relatives."  He 
then  gives  the  following  summary  of  the  Countess's  ex- 
cellences :  —  "  If  we  consider  her  person,  she  \vas  in  the 
flower  of  her  age  ;  of  a  temperate,  plain,  and  natural 
diet,  without  curiosity  or  an  intemperate  palate ;  she 
spent  less  time  in  dressing  than  many  servants;  her 
recreations  were  little  and  seldom  ;  her  prayers  often ; 
her  reading  much ;  she  was  of  a  most  noble  and  char 
table  soul ;  a  great  lover  of  honorable  actions,  and  as 
great  a  despiser  of  base  things  ;  hugely  loving  to  oblige 
others,  and  very  unwilling  to  be  in  arrear  to  any,  upon 
the  stock  of  courtesies  and  liberality ;  so  free  in  all  acts 
of  favor,  that  she  would  not  stay  to  hear  "herself  thanked, 
as  being  unwilling  that  what  good  went  from  her  to  a 
needful  or  an  obliged  person  should  ever  return  to  her 
again  ;  she  was  an  excellent  friend,  and  hugely  dear  to 
very  many,  especially  to  the  best  and  most  discerning 
persons,  to  all  that  conversed  with  her  and  could  under- 


96 

stand  her  great  worth  and  sweetness:  she  was  of  an 
honorable,  a  nice,  and  tender  reputation  ;  and  of  the 
pleasures  of  this  world,  which  were  laid  before  her  in 
heaps,  she  took  a  very  small  and  inconsiderable  share, 
as  not  loving  to  glut  herself  with  vanity,  or  take  her 
portion  of  good  things  here  below. 

"If  we  look  on  her  as  a  wife,  she  was  chaste  and 
loving  and  discreet,  humble  and  pleasant,  witty  and  com- 
pliant, rich- and  fair;  and  wanted  nothing  to  the  making 
her  a  principal  and  precedent  to  the  best  wives  of  the 
world,  but  a  long  life  and  a  full  age. 

"If  we  remember  her  as  a  mother,  she  was  kind  and 
severe,  careful  and  prudent,  very  tender,  and  not  at  all 
fond  ;  a  greater  lover  of  her  children's  souls  than  of  their 
bodies,  and  one  that  would  value  them  more  by  the  strict 
rules  of  honor  and  proper  worth,  than  by  their  relation 
to  herself. 

"  Her  servants  found  her  prudent  and  fit  to  govern, 
and  yet  open-handed  and  apt  to  reward  ;  a  just  exacter 
of  their  duty,  and  a  great  rewarder  of  their  diligence. 

"  She  was  in  her  house  a  comfort  to  her  dearest  lord, 
a  guide  to  her  children,  a  rule  to  her  servants,  an  ex- 
ample to  all." 

We  look  back  with  unfeigned  reverence  to  those  ad- 
mirable women,  whose  sacrifices,  labors,  and  courage 
were  instrumental  in  laying  the  foundation  of  our  own 
country.  The  early  legends  of  New  England  are  adorned 
with  names  that  are  embalmed  in  the  memory  of  their  de- 
scendants. In  the  days  of  our  Revolution  American  wo- 
men had  not  degenerated.  Their  self-denial,  fortitude, 
and  sincere  simple  piety  are  beyond  all  praise.  It  may 
be  said,  that  the  "times  that  tried  men's  souls"  de- 
veloped these  virtues  in  the  other  sex.  Perhaps  it  was 


97 


so.  They,  like  their  husbands,  had  that  unity  of  pur 
pose,  intent  upon  the  attainment  of  a  great  object,  which 
produces  strength  and  true  greatness  of  character.  They 
remained  at  home,  discharging  their  duty,  while  their 
husbands  were  engaged  in  the  senate  or  on  the  field  of 
battle.  While  these  devoted  wives  were  thus  left  to 
depend  upon  their  own  resources,  did  not  the  thought  of 
them  in  their  distant  homes  give  intenser  fervor  to  the 
eloquence  of  the  patriot  statesmen,  who  pleaded  her  cause 
in  the  colonial  congress,  and  more  deliberate  valor  to 
the  patriot  warrior  on  the  day  of  battle?  Who  can 
forget  "  the  Stark  of  Bennington  ?  " 

"When  on  that  field  his  band  the  Hessians  fought, 

Briefly  he  spoke  before  the  fight  began  :  — 
'Soldiers!  those  German  gentlemen  are  bought 

For  four  pounds  eight  and  seven  pence  per  man, 
By  England's  king, — a  bargain,  it  is  thought. 

Are  we  worth  more  ?     Let 's  prove  it  now  we  can, 
For  we  must  beat  them,  boys,  ere  set  of  sun, 

Or  Mary  Stark's  a  widow.'1 — It  was  done." 

Has  the  mantle  of  these  venerated  mothers  descend- 
ed upon  American  women  of  the  present  day  ?  With 
all  the  improvements  in  modern  education,  are  wives 
better  qualified  to  make  a  happy  home? 

"Nothing  lovelier  can  be  found. 
In  woman,  than  to  study  household  good, 
And  good  works  in  her  husband  to  promote." 

The  brief  learning  of  our  great-grandmothers  was 
comprised  in  that  respectable  trio,  reading,  writing,  and 
ciphering ;  but  in  strength  of  mind,  decision  of  charac- 
ter, skilful  domestic  management,  persevering  industry, 
sound,  sober  sense,  and  practical  religion,  where  are 
their  equals? 

We  have  not  adverted  thus  far  to  the  influence  of 
mothers.  « Tim*  would  fail  to  tell"  of  Timothy, 
9 


98  THE  YOUNG  LADY5S  HOME. 

Alexander,  Julius  Csesar,  Napoleon,  Newton,  Wesley, 
Sir  William  Jones,  Beattie,  Cecil,  Hall,  Hooker,  Dod- 
dridge,  D wight,  and  an  innumerable  cloud  of  witnesses 
to  the  power  of  this  influence.  Other  and  abler  pens 
have  portrayed  the  startling  reality  of  this  verity. 

The  influence  thus  committed  to  woman  is  the  tenth 
talent  not  to  be  spoken  of  vauntingly ;  with  humility 
and  lowliness  of  mind,  it  is  to  be  considered  a  solemn 
and  a  sacred  trust,  which  must  be  accounted  for  at  the 
bar  of  God. 

From  the  examples  which  have  been  given,  as  well  as 
from  our  knowledge  of  the  original  design  of  the  Crea- 
tor in  thus  endowing  woman  for  a  companion  and  help- 
meet for  man,  we  infer  that  her  true  and  most  powerful 
influence  must  be — at  home.  That  their  influence  may 
be  happy  and  permanent,  women  must  be  keepers  at 
home ;  earnest  that  the  sphere  which  Providence  has 
allotted  them  should  revolve  with  perfect  order  and  har- 
mony. 

What  shall  we  say  of  those  bold  and  daring  innova- 
tions which  of  late  have  given  startling  proof  that  some, 
at  least,  are  not  contented  with  that  humble  sphere. 
Has  any  female  demagogue,  though  condemned  by  all 
sober  well-wishers  to  their  country  and  to  the  interests 
of  the  human  race,  exerted  a  baleful  influence?  Has 
she  aided  in  persuading  American  women  that  they 
are  not  allowed  the  rights  of  free  citizens?  Alas! 
are  we  to  be  persuaded  out  of  our  best  and  truest  in- 
terests by  these  masculine  marauders?  Can  any  one 
deny  that  there  is  a  desire  to  mingle  in  public  affairs,  a 
wrangling  in  controversy,  and  a  hankering  for  public 
applause,  unbecoming  the  dignity  and  delicacy  of  woman  ? 
If  any  doubt  this,  look  at  the  societies  formed  of  both 


WOMAN'S  HOME  INFLUENCE.  99 

sexes,  where  the  ladies  take  an  active  part  in  debate  and 
management.  Listen  to  their  voices,  from  various  parts 
of  our  land,  loudly  claiming  the  right  of  suffrage,  the 
right  to  have  endowed  colleges  of  their  own;  in  short, 
the  right  to  be  free  independent  Americans  ?  These 
encroachments  are  to  be  looked  upon  with  jealous  eyes 
by  every  lover  of  the  country's  welfare.  Among  the 
thousand  and  one  flood-gates,  open  for  her  destruction, 
this  is  not  the  least.  Where  will  these  bold  inno- 
vators stop  ?  Not,  if  they  love  power  as  well  as  these 
manoeuvres  indicate,  till  they  snatch  the  reins  of  govern- 
ment itself  into  their  own  grasping  hands.  From  such  a 
consummation  nothing  could  deliver  us,  but  the  still 
greater  love  of  power,  and  superior  strength  to  maintain 
it,  on  the  side  where  it  now  lies.  Public  opinion,  hap- 
pily, is  still  strongly  against  these  bold  "  strikes,"  and  this 
"turn  out"  for  higher  privileges.  Among  the  other 
dangers  to  which  our  free  institutions  expose  us,  this 
departure  of  American  women  from  the  sweet  and  serene 
sphere  for  which  Providence  designed  them  was  never 
predicted,  even  by  the  most  gloomy  early  prophet  of  our 
country's  downfall. 

The  silent,  resistless  influence  of  home  and  the  affec- 
tions, —  this  is  woman's  true  glory.  If  it  be,  as  the 
poet  sings,  that  "domestic  happiness  is  the  only  bliss 
that  has  escaped  the  Fall,"  how  sedulous  should  she  be, 
to  whom  it  is  most  precious,  to  preserve  it  inviolate  ! 
Instead  of  stepping  forth  upon  the  arena  of  strife,  she 
should  make  her  home  and  her  fireside  a  quiet,  sweet 
sanctuary  for  less  favored  ones,  who  must  mingle  amid 
the  jarring  and  conflicting  elements  of  the  world, — 
whose  hearts  would  otherwise  be  hardened  and  seared  by 
constant  intercourse  with  such  a  world. 


100 

Some  fair  reader  may  inquire,  why  this  advice  to 
young  ladies  ?  Do  you  not  expect  at  some  future  day 
to  become  a  wife  ?  Why  should  you  affect  to  deny  it  ? 
The  voice  of  nature  speaks  out,  and  innocently,  too, — 
Such  is  my  anticipation.  Why  should  you  disavow 
what  is  implanted  in  your  heart  by  an  Almighty  hand  ? 
If  any  circumstances  counteract  this  original  design,  you 
can  be  useful,  contented,  and  respectable  in  a  single 
state :  there  are  too  many  examples  of  exalted  and 
amiable  character  in  women  who  have  remained  single, 
to  render  this  doubtful ;  mean  and  despicable  is  it  to 
attach  odium  to  that  situation,  which  is  made  honorable 
by  some  of  the  brightest  and  best  of  the  sex. 

The  same  resources  which  will  enable  you  to  be 
happy  and  useful  in  one  situation  will  avail  you  in 
another. 

Low  and  ill-natured  must  be  the  spirit  of  that  being, 
who  would  ridicule  the  idea  of  a  young  lady's  thinking 
of  those  virtues,  and  cultivating  those  dispositions,  which 
will  insure  connubial  happiness.  Every  generous,  high- 
minded  man  will  understand  that  this  is  her  duty,  and 
would  despise  the  mawkish  fastidiousness  which  affects 
never  to  think  of  such  a  condition. 

A  young  lady  who  would  be  prepared  for  the  respon- 
sible situation  of  a  wife  and  the  respected  mistress  of  a 
household,  has  much  to  learn  at  her  mother's  fireside. 
A  cumbrous  set  of  rules  and  maxims  hung  about  one, 
like  the  charms  which  the  gree-^rce  man  sells  to  the 
poor  African,  will  not  ward  off  the  evils,  nor  furnish  an 
antidote  to  the  trials,  of  life.  It  is  by  th^  L^bitual  exer- 
cise of  those  affections  and  those  principles  wiJcii  make 
her  the  light  and  life  of  her  father's  hearth  arA  b^  that 
a  young  lady  becomes  fitted  for  another  stetioo  At 


WOMAN'S  HOME  INFLUENCE.  101 

home  she  is  in  the  genial  school  ordained  by  Providence 
for  the  nurture  of  those  "flowers  of  loveliness"  which 
will  beautify  another  habitation.  The  habit  of  cheerful 
acquiescence  in  the  will  of  others  may  be  acquired  by 
submission  to  the  will  of  parents ;  self-denial,  by  yield- 
ing to  brothers  and  sisters  ;  consideration  for  the  welfare 
of  dependants,  by  care  not  to  give  unnecessary  trouble  to 
servants.  A  young  lady  who  is  not  an  affectionate, 
docile  daughter,  a  loving,  kind  sister,  cannot  make  a 
good  wife.  Woe  be  to  the  man  who,  relying  upon  a 
promise  made  at  the  altar  to  "  love,  honor,  and  obey," 
trusts  his  happiness  to  such  an  one.  A  promise  cannot 
implant  new  dispositions  ;  a  new  affection  does  not  often 
change  at  once  the  whole  tenor  of  conduct  and  feeling. 
If  it  be  a  very  strong  one,  it  may  remould  the  character 
in  time ;  but  time  alone  can  test  its  strength  and  power. 
It  is  the  dutiful  daughter  who  will  make  the  obedient 
wife.  Obedient !  How  antiquated !  True  :  almost  as 
old  as  the  creation.  Many  a  silly  girl  exclaims,  —  "I 
never  will  obey."  What  says  the  philosophical  Paley 
on  the  subject  of  obedience  ?  "  One  very  common  error 
misleads  the  opinions  of  mankind  on  this  head ;  namely, 
that,  universally,  authority  is  pleasant,  submission  painful. 
In  the  general  course  of  human  affairs,  the  very  reverse 
of  this  is  nearer  to  the  truth.  Command  is  anxiety,  obe- 
dience ease."  If  strength  and  courage  are  given  to 
man,  he  must  be  foremost  in  action  and  danger.  If 
feebleness  and  timidity  claim  from  him  support  and  pro- 
tection, what  is  due  in  return  but  love  and  obedience? 
The  Germans  have  very  orthodox  notions  on  this  sub- 
ject. The  famous  Jean  Paul  Richter  thus  writes  to  his 
friend  some  time  after  his  marriage  : — 

"  How  happy  I  am  you  should  see  rather  than  read. 
9* 


102 

My  Caroline,  who  wins  the  love  of  all,  —  of  the  men  by 
her  beauty,  of  the  women  by  her  captivating,  cordial 
kindness,  —  subdues  rne  by  happiness  to  contentment. 
We  have  the  whole  town  for  friends.  Her  almost  too 
great  indifference  to  going  out,  her  sinking  into  quiet 
industry,  her  strong,  maidenly  love,  her  unconditional 
resignation  to  my  will,  all  this  makes  our  love  even 
younger  than  at  first,  when  it  wras  merely  young.  That 
thou  wilt  be  in  love  with  her  is  most  certain." 

About  the  same  time  this  submissive  wife  writes  to 
her  father.  Does  she  complain  of  her  bondage,  and 
assert  her  rights  ?  She  says :  — 

"  My  husband  is  perfectly  contented  with  every  thing 
as  it  is,  and  I  am  so  happy  that  he  is  so,  and  conform  so 
willingly  to  his  wishes,  which  to  one  of  more  pretensions 
would  seem  too  limited,  that  I  enjoy  the  sweet  satisfac- 
tion of  being  to  him  what  he  requires.  Let  me  ever 
repeat,  that  we  grow  happier  every  day.  Nothing  with- 
out or  within  disturbs  us." 

Lady  reader,  the  well-spring  of  the  affections  is  in 
your  own  heart ;  let  it  not  be  a  sealed  fountain  ;  let  your 
love  cheer  your  father,  mother,  brothers,  sisters,  friends, 
and  your  gentle,  docile  submission  to  lawful  authority 
prove,  that  it  has  been  well  for  you  "  to  bear  the  yoke  in 
your  youth." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A  DAUGHTER'S  DUTY. 

"  With  sympathies  that  have  their  birth 
Where  woman's  best  affections  lie  ; 
With  hopes  that  hover  o'er  the  earth,    • 

But  fix  their  resting-place  on  high." — ANON. 

How  few  daughters  are  fully  aware  of  the  sacrifices 
made  for  them  by  their  parents !  Your  father,  it 
may  be,  year  after  year  has  toiled,  for  that  wealth  which 
enables  him  to  give  you  the  luxuries  and  elegances  of 
life.  Day  and  night  has  his  anxious  mind  been  exer- 
cised for  your  welfare.  He  has  spared  you  from  home 
and  its  duties,  and  given  up  the  pleasure  of  your  society 
and  your  assistance,  to  fit  you  for  life.  Or,  if  you  have 
been  so  happy  as  to  remain  beneath  the  parental  roof, 
you  have  probably  been  so  occupied  with  your  intellect- 
ual education  as  to  have  had  little  time  to  devote  to 
him.  Now,  that  you  have  more  leisure,  inquire  how 
you  shall  contribute  to  your  father's  comfort  and  enjoy- 
ment. Have  you  acquired  accomplishments?  Con- 
sider it  the  highest  gratification  they  can  afford  you  to 
exercise  them  for  his  amusement.  Let  the  voice  which 
he  has  been  the  means  of  cultivating  yield  its  sweetest 
notes  for  his  pleasure ;  let  his  praise  be  more  welcome 
to  your  ear  than  the  applause  of  thousands.  Is  he  fond 
of  reading?  Select  your  favorite  passages,  and  read 
them  to  him  when  he  has  leisure  to  listen.  Madame  de 

(103) 


104 

Stael's  strong  attachment  to  her  father,  M.  Necker,  was 
one  of  the  most  striking  and  pleasing  traits  in  her  char- 
acter. In  her  "  Ten  Years'  Exile,"  she  thus  mentions 
him  : — "  His  mind  had  so  much  vivacity  and  penetration, 
that  one  was  excited  to  think  by  the  pleasure  of  talking 
to  him;  I  made  observations  to  report  to  him,  —  I  lis- 
tened to  repeat  to  him.  Ever  since  I  have  lost  him,  I 
see  and  feel  only  half  what  I  did,  when  I  had  the  object 
in  view  of  giving  him  pleasure  by  the  picture  of  my  im- 
pressions." 

How  elevating,  how  ennobling,  is  such  a  confiding 
friendship  between  father  and  daughter!  Where  it  is 
possible,  cultivate  most  carefully  such  confidential  inter- 
course. Seek  that  advice  which  a  father's  superior 
knowledge  of  the  world  renders  invaluable  to  the  timid 
novice,  ever  needing  a  guiding  hand. 

Yield  to  your  father  that  ready  obedience  which 
the  sacred  relationship  demands.  Increasing  years  and 
knowledge  on  your  part,  will  not  free  you  from  this  obli- 
gation. One  of  the  wisest  and  best  men  of  our  country, 
the  late  President  Dwight,  remarked,  that  in  the  course 
of  a  long  experience  he  had  observed  that  "there  were 
two  sins  which  were  almost  invariably  punished  in  this 
life, —  disobedience  to  parents,  and  falsity  in  love." 
The  melancholy  lives  of  many  offending  daughters  bear 
witness  to  the  truth  of  this  remark.  How  can  it  be  ex- 
pected that  they  who  practise  habitual  dereliction  of 
duty  in  one  relation,  would  do  honor  to  any  other  ? 

The  respect  due  to  a  father  is  often  violated  by  those 
who  have  received  a  better  mental  education  than  their 
parents.  And  have  you  been  thus  elevated  in  mind  for 
no  better  purpose  than  to  despise  him  who  has  toiled 
for  you,  and  sacrificed  his  own  pleasure  to  give  you 


105 

this  very  elevation  ?  If  so,  your  intellect  has  been  cul- 
tivated at  the  expense  of  your  heart,  —  an  odious  defect 
in  a  woman.  With  what  agony  of  grief  might  your 
father  exclaim,  —  "  How  sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth 
it  is,  to  have  a  thankless  child !"  A  delicate  sensibility 
will  lead  to  the  greatest  caution  where  this  mental  dis- 
parity exists,  and  the  most  assiduous  efforts  to  repay,  by 
respectful  attention  and  kindness,  the  immense  obligation 
thus  incurred.  The  noble  sentiment  of  the  Theban 
general,  Epaminondas,  has  been  universally  admired. 
After  his  famous  victory  at  Leuctra,  while  the  thrilling 
applause  of  Greece  was  sounding  in  his  ears,  he  ex- 
claimed, —  "My  joy  arises  from  my  sense  of  that  which 
the  news  of  my  victory  will  give  my  father  and  my 
mother."  However  high  the  elevation  to  which  you,  in 
the  providence  of  God,  may  be  raised  above  your 
parents,  they,  by  an  immutable  law  of  the  same  provi- 
dence, must  remain  in  some  respects  your  superiors. 

Can  you  not  find  some  way  of  making  yourself  use- 
ful to  your  father  ?  In  a  large  manufactory,  not  many 
leagues  from  Paris,  the  daughters  of  trfe  wealthy  ownei 
are  the  only  clerks  for  the  large  establishment.  They 
keep  the  books,  and,  with  very  little  assistance  from 
their  father,  write  all  the  letters  of  a  most  extensive  for- 
eign correspondence.  In  the  evening  they  have  leisure, 
and  elegant  leisure ;  but  until  three  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon they  are  entirely  devoted  to  their  employment.  In 
this  country  such  a  thing  would  be  an  anomaly.  The 
delicate  daughters  of  America  shrink  from  the  idea  of 
industrious  occupation,  as  if  it  were  disgrace.  Better 
would  it  be  for  them  if  they  were  prepared  for  the  vicis- 
situdes which  they  may  encounter,  by  some  knowledge 
of  business,  and  habits  of  industry.  True,  custom  does 


106 

not  sanction  their  sitting  at  the  high  desks  of  the  count- 
ing-room, but  they  may  receive  from  their  fathers  that 
insight  into  the  mysteries  of  book-keeping  «  by  double  or 
single  entry,"  which  may  qualify  them  to  keep  family 
accounts,  or  manage  their  affairs  if  left  alone  in  life.  If 
your  father  is  a  professional  man,  my  young  friend, 
perhaps  you  hold  "  the  pen  of  a  ready  writer,"  and  can 
lighten  his  labors.  You,  who  have  scarcely  known 
weariness  except  by  name,  cannot  imagine  the  wearing, 
distracting  nature  of  his  employment.  Study  to  be  use- 
ful to  him,  so  far  as  your  ability  will  permit ;  when  his 
brow  is  contracted  with  thought,  and  the  multiplicity  of 
his  cares  and  duties  almost  drives  him  mad,  aid  him,  if  he 
will  permit  you  to  do  so,  and  soothe  him  by  your  kind 
attentions. 

Has  a  change  come  over  his  prosperous  days  ? 
Has  the  wealth  that  patient  industry  or  daring  enterprise 
had  gained,  or  that  had  been  inherited  from  honored  an- 
cestors, passed  away,  like  the  dew  of  the  morning? 
"What  will  you  do  to  comfort  him,  during  the  heat  and 
burden  of  this  day  of  trials  ?  It  may  have  gratified  his 
pride  in  the  day  of  his  prosperity,  to  see  you  making  a 
splendid  appearance.  Lessen  the  pain  that  he  will  feel 
in  denying  himself  this  gratification,  by  indifference  on 
your  own  part.  Put  far  away  false  shame,  and  a  mis- 
taken desire  to  "keep  up  appearances."  Demonstrate 
to  him  that  your  heart  was  not  fixed  on  splendid  appar- 
el ;  at  the  same  time,  show  a  scrupulous  attention  lo 
neatness  and  good  taste.  Whatever  changes  may  come, 
maintain  that  dignified  self-respect  which  will  secure  you 
from  contempt.  You  will  not  be  lessened  in  the  estima- 
tion of  one  single  wise  or  noble-minded  being,  by  accom- 
modating yourself  to  an  altered  worldly  condition.  And 


A  DAUGHTER'S  DUTY.  107 

here  I  am  tempted  to  digress,  to  tell  a  short  story,  which 
is  more  than  half  fiction. 

THE  long  rows  of  elms,  that  ornament  one  of  the  love- 
liest streets  on  earth,  had  burst  their  wintry  buds,  and 
the  light  and  graceful  branches  gently  waved  in  the  breath 
of  early  spring.  The  grass,  starting  fresh  from  its  long 
rest  beneath  its  snowy  covering,  now  wore  its  softest 
verdure.  The  far-reaching  vista  presented  in  the  dis- 
tance a  perfect  Gothic  arch,  formed  by  the  limbs  of  the 
lofty  elms  which  intersect  each  other,  through  the  whole 
length  of  that  beautiful  street. 

Two  strangers,  arm  in  arm,  were  slowly  sauntering 
along,  apparently  deeply  engaged  in  conversation  ;  stop- 
ping occasionally,  however,  to  admire  a  scene  so  new 
and  delightful. 

The  taller  of  these  strangers  was  a  splendid  girl  of 
eighteen  or  twenty,  with  large,  dark  eyes,  of  too  dazzling 
brilliancy,  and  a  person  and  gait  that  might  have  belonged 
to  the  "widow  Dido."  Her  dress  and  manner  pro- 
claimed her  an  ultra-fashionist. 

Her  companion  was  a  pale  and  exceedingly  delicate 
girl,  of  nearly  the  same  age.  If  the  comparison  of  a  rose 
and  a  lily  had  not  been  worn  out  a  thousand  years  ago, 
it  would  doubtless  have  served  for  this  occasion.  The 
lily  moved  with  an  air  so  sweetly  feminine,  so  graceful 
arid  becoming,  that  it  would  have  been  a  sad  disappoint- 
ment had  the  face  not  answered  the  expectation  formed 
by  that  prepossessing  air ;  one  glance  at  the  fair  face 
proved  that  the  whole  was  in  keeping. 

"  The  loveliness  of  this  beautiful  world  !  I  had  nev- 
er eyes  for  it  before,"  exclaimed  the  latter,  whom  we 
shall  call  Alice.  «  It  realizes  the  truth  of  poetical  de- 


108  THE  YOUNG  LADY'S  HOME. 

scription,"  continued  she,  leaning  against  one  of  the 
trees,  and  looking  upwards. 

"You  might  think  of  one  stanza,  at  least,  as  realized, 
if  you  could  see  yourself,  Alice,  at  this  moment,"  re- 
plied the  other,  Irene  by  name. 

"  White  bud,  that  in  meek  beauty  so  dost  lean, 

The  cloistered  cheek  as  pale  as  moonlight  snow, 
Thou  seem'st,  beneath  thy  huge,  high  leaf  of  green, 
An  Eremite  beneath  his  mountain's  brow." 

"  Why,  even  you,  Irene,  feel  the  influence  of  this 
charming  scene,  as  your  quotation  proves ;  is  there  not 
another  stanza?"  said  Alice. 

u  There  is,"  replied  Irene,  "  but  it  is  too  sentimen- 
tal ;  however,  to  gratify  you,  I  will  repeat  it ;  but  posi- 
tively you  are  growing  too  romantic  ;  it  is  mauvais  gout. 

'Sweet  bud  !  thou  'rt  emblem  of  a  lovelier  thing,— 

The  broken  spirit  that  its  anguish  bears 
To  silent  shades,  and  there,  sits  offering 
To  Heaven  the  holy  fragrance  of  its  tears.' 

Alice,  dear,  I  verily  believe  the  tears  are  in  your 
eyes.  I  would  not  have  repeated  this  scrap,  if  I  had 
suspected  you  of  so  much  sensibility.  Nonsense !  I 
would  most  willingly  exchange,  at  this  moment,  this  long 
row  of  tall  trees,  for  the  same  length  of  tall  houses  in 
Broadway." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  candidly,  Irene,"  said  the  first  fair 
and  gentle  speaker,  "  what  tastes,  what  passions,  and 
what  sentiments  are  gratified  by  a  walk  in  Broadway  ?" 

"  Who  would  believe  it  of  the  belle  of  New  York ! 
The  admired,  the  courted,  the  idolized  Alice  Carson," 
exclaimed  her  gay  friend,  "  absolutely  becoming  philo- 
sophical !" 

"Do  not  ridicule,  Irene,  but  answer  me." 


109 

"  Well  then,  ma  belle,  candidly  and  methodically. 
Under  the  first  grand  division,  What  tastes  are  gratified 
by  a  walk  in  Broadway  ?  Firstly,  a  taste  for  the  beauti- 
ful. Secondly,  a  taste  for  the  sublime.  Thirdly,  a  taste 
for  eloquence.  Fourthly,  a  taste  for  wit." 

Alice.  Still  jesting,  Irene ;  cannot  I  persuade  you 
to  speak  seriously  once  in  your  life  ? 

Irene.  You  will  not  listen  to  me ;  be  patient.  A 
taste  for  the  beautiful,  —  the  human  face  divine  is  there 
exhibited  most  bewitchingly ;  the  finely  proportioned  and 
graceful  person,  decorated  by  able  artistes,  —  feathers 
of  all  hues,  collected  from  nature's  aviary,  —  flowers, 
out-rivalling  nature  herself; — the  silkworm's  laborious 
thread,  beautified  to  such  a  degree  that  the  poor  worm 
would  never  recognize  his  raw  material,  —  gems  of 
"  purest  ray  serene,"  no  longer  doomed  to  obscurity  in 
dark,  unfathomed  caves  of  ocean.  Have  I  not  proved 
that  a  taste  for  the  beautiful  may  be  gratified  in  Broad- 
way, that  most  delightful  of  all  promenades  ? 

Alice.  Most  satisfactorily — to  yourself.  And  what 
passions  are  called  into  exercise  ? 

Irene.  Love,  ambition,  envy,  revenge,  hatred,  hope, 
fear,  joy,  —  all,  Alice,  of  which  the  human  heart  is  sus- 
ceptible. These  are  the  chief  source  of  enjoyment. 
They  keep  up  excitement,  and  prevent  the  sluggish  cur- 
rent of  life  from  absolute  stagnation. 

Alice.  Are  all  these  passions  pleasurable  ? 

Irene.  You  are  departing  from  the  question ;  you 
asked  what  passions  were  gratified. 

Alice.  You  can  tell  me,  then,  how  they  are  gratified  ? 

Irene.  Ambition,  —  a  desire  to  excel ;  did  we  not  so 
define  it  at  school?  When  you  prepare  yourself  for  a 
walk  in  Broadway,  do  you  not  desire  to  be  more  elegant, 
10 


110  THE  YOUNG  LADY7S  HOME. 

more  recherche,  mo~e  attractive,  than  any  one  else  ? 
When  you  first  put  on  that  pure,  sweet  chip-hat,  with 
its  delicate  wreath  of  blushing  white  rose-buds,  —  for, 
now  I  think  of  it,  they  are  exactly  the  color  of  your 
blush  at  this  moment,  —  did  you  not  cast  another,  and 
still  another,  look  at  your  mirror? 

Alice  (interrupting).  Stay,  Irene  ;  that  is  vanity. 

Irene.  Granted  ;  that  is  woman's  ambition. 

Alice.  What  a  confession ! 

Irene.  Confess  yourself,  now ;  —  have  you  not  thus 
surveyed  your  pretty  self,  from  the  topmost  plume  to  the 
delicate  heel  of  your  shoe,  and,  finding  all  as  beautiful 
as  though  you  had  been  fitted  out  by  Cinderella's 
grandmother,  have  you  not  gone  forth  exulting  —  to 
conquest?  And  when  you  saw  all  eyes  upon  you,  and 
drank  in  admiration  from  every  one,  then  you  were  tri- 
umphantly joyful. 

Alice  (sighing).  Such  things  have  been,  but  even 
then  I  felt  that  I  was  made  for  better  things.  There 
was  a  far-reaching  hope  of  happiness,  still  unsatisfied. 
When  admiration  was  new  to  me,  I  was  intoxicated, 
bewildered,  by  it ;  but  it  was  not  long  before  I  could 
read  envy  in  many  an  eye,  and  the  whispers  of  malice 
and  uncharitableness  reached  my  ears. 

Irene.  That,  of  course,  enhanced  your  enjoyment.  I 
love  to  be  envied,  and  it  raises  my  pride  to  be  hated. 

Alice.  It  gives  me  no  pleasure  to  be  the  cause  of 
misery  to  others.  My  health,  too,  suffered  in  conse- 
quence of  late  hours  and  constant  excitement.  Satiety, 
ennui,  and  disgust,  have  since  haunted  my  footsteps. 

Irene.  A  goodly  trio  !  But  you  have  named  the  true 
cause  of  all, — ill  health. 

Alice.  You   mistake ;  those  artificial  pleasures,  those 


Ill 

factitious  enjoyments,  were  not  suited  to  my  nature ; 
they  palled  upon  the  lip.  Here,  in  this  sweet  spot,  my 
soul  expands ;  I  am  like  an  uncaged,  bird,  soaring  free 
into  a  pure,  unclouded  sky.  Those  powers  that  were 
given  me  for  nobler  purposes,  but  which  were  stifled 
during  my  butterfly  career,  now  make  themselves 
known ;  I  am  not  all  of  "  earth,  earthy." 

Irene  was  silent  for  one  brief  moment,  and  then  re- 
sumed, in  the  same  light  strain,  —  You  have  not  allowed 
me  to  tell  you  how  my  taste  for  the  sublime  is  gratified 
in  glorious  Broadway  by  the  boundary  line,  the  magnifi- 
cently ridiculous  ;  nor  how  the  compliments  of  the  beaux 
display  their  eloquence,  and  how  my  wit  is  called  into 
exercise  to  parry  them,  and  how 

Alice.  Spare  me,  Irene  ;  your  mirth  does  not  har- 
monize with  the  calm  serenity  of  this  beautiful  evening. 

Irene.  I  fear  we  have  already  strolled  here  too  long ; 
it  is  getting  late,  and  somebody  says, — 

"The  dews  of  the  evening  most  carefully  shun  ; 
They  're  the  tears  of  the  sky  for  the  loss  of  the  sun." 

So  saying,  they  hurried  across  the  public  square  to 
the ,  their  temporary  home. 

As  they  were  ascending  the  steps  of  the  hotel,  they 
encountered  a  bevy  of  romping  girls,  dressed  in  the  ex- 
treme of  fashion,  talking  and  laughing  very  loudly; 
some  of  them  had  their  bonnets  in  their  hands,  swinging 
them  about,  and  all  appeared  in  high  glee,  perfectly  re- 
gardless of  the  attention  they  attracted.  A  gentleman 
who  was  passing  them  said  to  his  companion,  —  "  That 
is  a  party  of  Broadway  dashers ;  they  have  come 
up  to  astonish  the  natives;  they  have  no  idea  that 
tfiere  can  be  respectability,  or  gentility,  out  of  their  own 
city." 


112 


Alice  gave  her  friend  a  meaning  smile,  as  she  said, — 
"  Do  you  recognize  them  as  acquaintances,  Irene  ?" 

"  No,  indeed  !  What  vulgarity  !"  said  Irene,  hasten- 
ing into  the  parlour  with  Alice,  and  shutting  the  door 
quickly,  to  avoid  them.  It  was  useless,  the  party  came 
rushing  in.  "  Did  you  see  me  stare  at  that  young  man  ?" 
said  one;  "I  never  done  any  thing  more  complete;  the 
poor  youth  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  it ;  I  like  to 
make  these  country  gawks  wonder."  "  'T  is  real  sport," 
said  another ;  "  how  they  do  stare  and  grin !"  "  There 
goes  them  fellows  again,  that  we  have  met  so  many 
times,"  said  a  third,  stretching  her  head  out  of  the  win- 
dow; "I  declare,  the  impudent  creatures  are  bowing  to 
me."  "I  suppose  they  never  saw  a  fashionable  lady 
before,  and  think  they  must  bow,"  said  the  first  speaker. 
"Have  you  been  taking  a  walk?"  said  one,  addressing 
Irene.  "Yes,"  she  replied,  rising  with  dignity,  "and 
I  am  going  to  take  another."  So  saying,  she  walked 
out  of  the  room,  followed  by  Alice. 

The  windows  of  their  sleeping  apartment  overlooked 
the  beautiful  "  Green,"  of  that  "  City  of  Elms."  The 
moon,  now  rising,  shed  her  magic  light  over  the  scene, 
throwing  the  long  shadows  of  the  trees  far  across  the 
open  space,  and  silvering  the  tall  spires  and  cupolas. 
Irene  sat  gazing,  wrapt  in  thought.  Alice,  too,  was 
disposed  to  contemplation.  A  full  hour  passed  in  si- 
lence. It  was  broken  by  Irene:  —  "Those  provoking 
hoydens!  they  have  put  me  out  of  conceit  of  myself. 
Broadway  dashers !  how  much  of  cockneyism  in  the 
very  name !  I  will  not  acknowledge  myself  to  belong 
to  such  a  class;  yet  how,  after  all,  do  we  differ?  our 
pursuits  and  enjoyments  are  much  the  same." 

Mice.     Exactly   the   same,   excepting   that   superior 


113 

wealth  and  education  have  given  more  refinement  to  our 
circle. 

Irene.  I  cannot  imagine  any  happiness  but  such  as 
wealth  confers,  or  rather  procures ;  yet  I  do  despise  the 
"rich  vulgar;"  so  it  is  not  riches  for  their  own  sake, 
that  I  hold  in  such  estimation ;  yet  I  could  not  be  poor, 
—  the  thought  is  agony. 

Alice.  You  do  not  know  your  own  resources ;  with 
such  a  mind  as  yours,  talents  so  superior,  you  might  find 
contentment  without  wealth. 

Irene.  Never !  You  do  not  know  my  pride.  I  would 
not  step  down  one  round  upon  the  ladder  of  society,  to 
save  that  right  hand  from  amputation. 

******* 

Again  the  young  friends  were  walking,  arm  in  arm, 
through  their  favorite  street.  The  light  foliage  had 
deepened  to  the  richest  verdure  of  summer,  and  the  high 
grass  bent  to  every  breeze.  But  is  that  the  dazzling 
Irene  ?  What  a  change !  Gloom  sits  heavily  upon  her 
brow ;  her  proud,  elastic  step  is  gone.  And  has  the 
dreaded  evil  come?  Has  penury  marked  that  bright 
being  for  his  own  ?  Her  father  has  shared  the  fate  of 
thousands,  and  is  penniless.  Her  high  hopes  of  happi- 
ness were  "  visions  loved  and  lost." 

Alice,  the  kind,  the  gentle  Alice,  is  also  changed. 
The  roses  of  health  bloom  upon  her  cheek, — serene 
cheerfulness  lights  her  blue  eye ;  but  it  turns  with  sooth- 
ing sympathy  to  her  friend,  as  she  says,  —  "  There  is  no 
reason  for  this  despondency ;  you  have  the  means  of  in- 
dependence, Irene ;  you  are  a  fine  performer  on  the 
harp,  and  on  the  piano ;  you  can  teach  music." 

Irene.    How  calmly  you  speak  of  it,  Alice!     /  teach 
music!     I  should  be  bored  to  death  with  teaching;  I 
10* 


114 

should  be  so  mortified,  too,  to  meet  any  of  my  former 
friends. 

Alice.  Do  you  think  it  would  lessen  you  in  my  esti- 
mation ? 

Irene.  Perhaps  not,  you  are  so  wondrous  philo- 
sophical. 

Alice.  It  would  not  lessen  you  in  the  opinion  of  any 
one  who  is  governed  by  right  feelings  or  right  prin- 
ciples. 

Irene.  Do  not  speak  of  it,  Alice ;  your  intentions 
may  be  good,  but  you  don't  understand  my  character. 

Alice  was  hurt,  but  she  did  not  reply.  Her  own 
heart  acquitted  her ;  she  sought  her  friend's  best  inter- 
est. After  a  few  moments'  silence  she  said, — "  Irene, 
it  would  give  me  great  pleasure  to  have  you  make 
your  home  with  me ;  but  as  my  father  has  listened  to 
my  entreaty,  and  purchased  a  country-house  where  we 
shall  be  very  retired,  on  account  of  his  delicate  health, 
I  feared  it  might  not  be  agreeable." 

"  Thank  you  ;  I  am  not  quite  destitute  of  a  home," 
haughtily  replied  Irene.  "  If  my  father  has  been  obliged 
to  give  up  his  house  in  Broadway,  he  will  probably  take 
one  in  some  genteel  street.  I  do  not  think,  however,  I 
shall  remain  with  him  the  next  winter  ;  it  will  be  so  in- 
tolerably dull ;  I  can  stay  with  my  aunt  Y ,  or  un- 
cle T ;  they  both  live  splendidly." 

Alice.  And  who  will  comfort  and  cheer  your  father  ? 

Irene.  O,  my  sister  Mary,  you  know,  is  not  yet  out, 
and  will  not  be  these  two  years ;  she  is  with  him,  and 
will  not  mind  our  mortifying  downfall  as  I  do. 

Alice.  But,  dear  Irene,  think  how  much  she  needs 
an  elder  sister's  society  and  advice.  Deprived,  as  we 
both  are,  of  our  sainted  mothers,  we  ought  to  endeav- 


115 

or  to  make  up  the  loss,  as  far  as  possible,  to  our 
younger  sisters. 

Irene.  I  tell  you  plainly,  Alice,  I  have  none  of  your 
philosophy ;  my  heart  is  set  upon  another  dashing  season 
in  New  York,  and  my  pride  is  up,  to  carry  it  through 
with  as  much  eclat  as  we  did  the  last.  I  shall  show 
those  who  are  rejoicing  in  our  misfortunes,  that  I  carry 
my  head  as  high  as  ever. 

Alice  saw  that  it  was  useless  to  reason  with  her 
friend;  she  sighed  to  think  of  the  misery  such  false 
views  must  produce,  and  changed  the  subject.  "Are 
not  these  trees  still  more  beautiful  every  day  ?" 

Irene.  No  ;  they  are  hateful,  abominable ;  the  filthy 
worms  come  streaming  from  every  branch,  and  give  one 
the  horrors. 

"  Who  can  minister  to  a  mind  diseased  ?"  thought 
Alice,  and  continued  the  remainder  of  the  walk  silent 
and  thoughtful. 

"  This  is  the  state  of  man ;  a  passing  shadow 
Throws  down  the  baseless  fobric  of  his  joy." 

Irene,  although  endowed  munificently  with  nature's 
gifts,  felt  the  loss  of  wealth  as  the  greatest  earthly  evil. 
She  would  not  employ  her  musical  talents,  as  had  been 
suggested  by  Alice,  as  the  means  of  honorable  inde- 
pendence, but  accepted  an  invitation  from  her  aunt  Y 

to  pass  the  winter  in  her  gay  and  fashionable  mansion. 

Meantime  her  father  had  removed  to  a  small,  but 
neat  and  comfortable  house,  in  a  genteel  street,  as  Irene 
was  delighted  to  hear,  for  otherwise  her  step  would  sel- 
dom have  passed  the  threshold.  Happy  for  him  that  he 
had  another  daughter!  She,  though  rejoicing  in  the  gay 
spring-time  of  life,  was  sobered  by  sorrow,  and  taught 


116 

wisdom  by  early  misfortune.  A  blessed  thing  was  it  for 
him  that  he  had  a  Mary  ! 

Hard,  indeed,  was  the  struggle  for  the  proud  Irene 
to  "hold  up  her  head  as  high  as  ever."  Many  there 
were,  who  slighted,  who  ridiculed,  who  slandered,  her. 
Many,  who  had  courted  her  society  when  the  mistress  of 
the  elegant  mansion  in  Broadway,  now  passed  her  with 
a  supercilious  nod,  —  for  she  had  not  borne  the  honors 
of  her  former  station  meekly.  Still  she  fluttered  among 
the  gay  throng,  and,  with  a  desperate  effort,  seemed  the 
very  spirit  of  joy. 

During  the  latter  part  of  this  anxious  winter,  a  former 
suitor,  whom,  in  the  meridian  of  her  glory,  she  had 
scornfully  rejected,  again  paid  his  addresses.  She  ac- 
cepted, although  she  detested,  him.  He  had  one  sole 
recommendation,  —  he  was  rich.  It  needs  no  prophet 
to  foretell,  that  hers  will  be  a  life  of  splendid  misery. 

How  acceptable  are  the  kind  attentions  of  a  daughter 
in  the  chamber  of  sickness !  Who  can  administer  the 
healing  draught,  move  about  with  soft  and  silent  tread, 
and  lay  "the  cool  hand  upon  an  aching  brow,"  with 
more  tenderness  than  a  devoted  daughter  ? 

And  should  age  be  creeping  on  with  stealthy  pace,  be 
it  your  blessed  privilege,  my  young  friend,  to  make  it 
"  a  green  old  age,"  by  your  deeds  of  love  and  your  ex- 
cellence of  character.  Then,  from  your  venerated  fa- 
ther's lips  shall  escape  the  heart-felt  testimony, — «  Many 
daughters  have  done  virtuously,  but  thou  excellest  them 
all." 

In  some  communications  from  Egypt,  dated  at  Cairo, 
it  is  most  interesting  and  encouraging  to  find,  that,  after 
so  many  centuries  of  midnight  darkness,  the  light  of 


A  DAUGHTER'S  DUTY.  117 

knowledge  is  at  last  dawning  there  upon  woman's  mind. 
Mehemet  Ali,  whose  strong  mind  has  overcome  so  many 
prejudices,  has  at  length  determined,  among  his  many 
improvements,  to  introduce  the  European  system  of 
education  into  his  own  family  of  daughters.  One  of  his 
principal  officers,  Hekekyan  Effendi,  said  to  the  English 
lady,  who  was  requested  there  to  assume  the  charge  of 
an  instructress,  —  "  This  is  only  the  beginning  of  female 
education  in  Egypt,  for  the  Pacha  has  much  larger 
views ;  but  he  wishes  first  to  try  the  experiment  on  his 
own  family.  Much  depends  upon  tJie  approbation  of  his 
oldest  daughter,  whether  instruction  shall  spread  through 
the  country ;  only  gain  her  favor  and  regard,  and  you 
will  carry  every  point  to  your  utmost  wishes."  This  is 
saying  much  for  a  daughter's  influence.  In  a  letter 
addressed  to  the  English  lady  on  the  same  subject, 
Hekekyan  Effendi  writes:  — 

"Previous  to  the  Viceroy's  departure  for  the  Said, 
I  was  directed  to  inform  you,  that  his  Highness  had  ex- 
amined the  specimens  of  needle-work  and  the  drawings 
which  you  had  the  kindness  to  send  ;  and  that  his  Serene 
Highness  had  expressed  his  desire  that  you  should  visit 
his  daughter,  Nazly  Hanum,  two  or  three  times  a  week, 
at  Castle  Guibarra,  and  that  you  should  give  her  your 
advice  as  to  the  best  course  to  be  pursued  in  commenc- 
ing the  education  of  his  children. 

"  I  congratulate  you  on  this  opportunity  offered  you 
to  extend  the  blessings  of  instruction  to  the  highest 
families  of  this  benighted  country.  It  is  impossible  to 
foresee  the  vast  results  which  must  proceed  from  the  intro- 
duction of  civilization  in  the  lamily  of  the  prince.  Nazly 
Hanum  herself  pays  great  filial  deference  to  her  illus- 
trious fathers  will  in  all  things ;  and  it  is  difficult  to 


118  THE  YOUNG  LADYJS  HOME. 

imagine  that  any  obstacles  should  arise  from  her  part, 
unless  they  should  be  determined  by  any,  the  slightest, 
impolitic  conduct  on  the  part  of  the  teachers  themselves. 

"  In  seconding  my  illustrious  prince  and  benefactor  in 
his  work  of  civilizing  Egypt,  I  have  been  led  to  reflec- 
tion by  the  nature  of  my  duties,  and  have  as  yet  been 
able  to  trace  our  debasement  to  no  other  cause  than 
that  of  the  want  of  an  efficient  moral  and  useful  educa- 
tion in  our  females.  I  believe  that,  in  elevating  the  soul 
by  initiating  it  in  the  mysteries  and  beauties  of  nature, 
through  the  means  of  geography,  astronomy,  botany,  ge- 
ology, natural  history,  &c., — in  proportion  as  we  better 
comprehend  the  power,  wisdom,  and  goodness  of  the 
great  First  Cause, — so  are  we  enabled  of  ourselves  to 
detect  our  own  errors,  and  feel  a  secret  invitation  in  our 
own  bosoms  to  abandon  them.  In  instructing  the  mind 
and  the  body  in  those  innocent,  useful,  and  varied  occu- 
pations, which  are  the  peculiar  enjoyment  of  females, 
we  enable  them  to  escape  those  dangers  and  misfortunes 
which  are  induced  by  the  disorders  of  ignorance  and 
idleness.  Habits  of  industry,  cleanliness,  order,  and 
economy,  by  increasing  domestic  happiness,  will  not 
only  tend  to  make  us  better  beings,  but  will  also  secure 
to  our  children  that  maternal  education,  which  is,  per- 
haps, the  most  important  provision  which  can  be  made 
for  after  life  in  this  narrow  world,  and  without  which 
no  succeeding  efforts  to  obliterate  the  evil  impressions 
received  in  early  youth  can  be  effectual." 

This  sounds  quite  rational,  coming  from  a  land  where 
the  Mahometan  creed  that  women  have  no  souls,  has 
so  long  prevailed.  Miss  Holliday,  the  English  lady  to 
whom  the  above  letter  was  addressed,  writes,  that  she 
hopes  to  enter  on  the  work  as  soon  as  she  has  com- 


119 

pleted  some  necessary  preparations.  She  says,  —  "I 
will  then  pursue  every  measure,  just  so  far  as  prudence 
and  duty  seem  to  dictate  ;  holding  myself  at  liberty  to 
turn  back,  whenever  I  find  it  involve  any  thing  contrary 
to  Christian  principle." 

It  is  impossible  to  estimate  the  amount  of  good  that 
may  be  done  through  the  influence  of  Miss  Holliday  and 
Nazly  Hanum. 

Imagination  portrays  the  delight  these  young  Egyp- 
tians will  feel,  when  the  long-hidden  mysteries  of  litera- 
ture and  science  shall  be  revealed  to  their  wondering 
minds.  And  in  ages  hence,  perhaps,  Mehemet  Ali's 
eldest  daughter  will  be  loved  and  honored  as  the  noble 
benefactress  of  Egypt,  the  day-star  that  first  cheered 
them  on  their  way  to  civilization,  and,  would  that  \ve 
might  add,  Christianity. 

Influence,  like  charity,  begins  at  home,  and  like  it, 
too,  is  in  its  nature  diffusive.  The  sequestered  moun- 
tain lake  sends  from  its  embowered  solitude  perennial 
streams,  to  gladden  many  a  fair  and  fruitful  field. 

It  may  be  thought  an  unpardonable  omission,  if  the 
daughter's  duty  to  her  mother  should  be  passed  over 
without  a  \vord.  And  yet,  my  dear  friends,  I  feel  dis- 
posed to  commend  it  to  your  own  hearts  and  con- 
sciences and  there  leave  it.  If  generous  impulses  do  not 
produce  tenderness  and  obedience,  kindly  aid  and  con- 
sideration, and  entire  confidence,  advice  is  powerless.  If 
filial  affection  gush  not,  spontaneously,  from  an  over- 
flowing heart,  what  magician's  rod  can  call  it  forth  ? 
In  early  Rome  there  was  no  law  against  parricide,  be- 
cause it  was  deemed  impossible.  It  seems  equally  im- 
possible, that  a  daughter  should  be  wanting  in  affection 
and  duty  to  her  mother. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A   SISTER'S   INFLUENCE. 

CLARA   WILTON. 

Jane.       All  sisters  are  not  to  the  soul  entwined 

With  equal  bands;  thine  has  not  watched  foj  thee, 
Wept  for  thee,  cheered  thee,  shared  thy  weal  and  woe, 
As  I  have  done  for  him. 

De  Montfort.     Ah  !  has  she  not? 

The  sum  of  all  thy  kindly  deeds 

Were  but  as  chaff  poised  against  massy  gold, 

Compared  to  that  which  I  do  owe  her  love. 

Miss  BAILLIE. 

"I  WILL  be  a  German  in  literature,  an  Italian  in 
virtu,  a  Frenchman  in  gourmandise,  an  Englishman  in 
politics,  and  a  Spaniard  in  love.  My  role  has  been 
well  studied,  and  it  will  show  a  pitiful  want  of  spirit  if 
it  be  not  well  played."  So  said  George  Wilton,  as  the 
vessel  which  bore  him  to  his  native  land  neared  the 
shore.  He  left  home  to  travel  in  Europe,  and  to  study 
a  profession,  when  he  had  just  attained  his  one-and- 
twentieth  year,  and  had  passed  nearly  four  years  abroad. 

"New  York  is  a  fine  city, — a  glorious  city;  I  am  not 
ashamed  of  her  ;  she  bears  comparison  with  any  of  the 
boasted  cities  of  the  Old  World,"  said  George,  as  her 
hundred  spires,  far-reaching  streets,  forest  of  masts,  and 
busy-plying  steamboats  scattered  over  her  beautiful  har- 

(120) 


121 

bor,  all  bathed  in  bright  sun-light,  glittered  before  his 
ardent  gaze. 

Among  the  many  who  crowded  to  meet  long-absent 
and  loved  ones,  and  welcome  the  wanderers  home, 
Wilton  recognized  not  one  well-known  face  ;  yet  all 
looked  familiar,  for  they  were  his  own  countrymen, 
speaking  his  own  language,  which,  spite  of  his  affecta- 
tion and  foreign  prejudices,  sounded  like  music  to  his 
ears. 

"  I  am  too  completely  a  cosmopolite,"  thought  he, 
"to  be  troubled  at  not  meeting  with  friends,  and  too 
long  an  isolated  being  to  care  much  for  kindred ;  but 
home  I  must  go,  to  see  the  old  man  and  woman,  and 
their  hopeful  progeny." 

He  ordered  his  valet,  for  he  sported  such  an  appen- 
dage, to  collect  his  luggage,  consisting  of  trunks,  port- 
manteaus, boxes,  dressing-cases,  hampers,  and  baskets, 
which  spoke  as  plainly  as  luggage  could,  of  the  virtu, 
literature,  and  gourmandise  of  which  he  boasted. 

"  And  this  hotel  I  am  not  ashamed  of,"  thought  Wil- 
ton, as  he  drove  up  to  the  Astor  House ;  "  few  hotels 
in  Europe  are  superior  to  this  immense  structure." 

A  formidable  array  of  consommes  and  wines  about  his 
place  at  table,  established  his  reputation  with  men  of 
sense,  as  a  regularly-spoiled  American,  and  with  the 
young  and  silly  of  both  sexes,  as  an  elegant  travelled 
gentleman.  Unfortunately,  the  exhibition  of  such  ele- 
gance or  folly  has  become  too  common  to  attract  much 
attention.  Wilton  found  himself  equalled  by  many  at 
table  in  the  variety  of  his  wines  and  liqueurs.  Hock,  sau- 
terne,  lachryma?  Christi,  champagne,  &c.,  &c.,  grati- 
fied the  pride  more  than  the  taste  of  extravagant  young 
11 


122 

men.     Abroad,  the  expense  of  wine  was  comparatively 
trifling  ;  here  it  was  enormous.     Wine-drinking,  though 
too  frequently  a  vice,  is  often  a  mere  matter  of  display. 
A  journeyman-tailor  calls   for   his  champagne,  that  he 
may  appear  like  a  gentleman.     The  parvenu  exquisite, 
too,  in  the  superlative  fineness  of  his  broadcloth,  the 
variety  of  his  trinkets,  chains,  rings  upon  his  fingers  and 
thumbs,  and  even  in  the  delicacy  of  his  perfumery,  rivals 
any  petit-maitre.     Poor  Wilton's   hopes    of   distinction 
from  these  sources  were  entirely  frustrated.     The  con- 
versation  at   table  was   also  Parisian   in   the   extreme. 
The  reigning  stars  at  the  opera  and  theatre,  and  their 
crack  performances,  the   races,  with   the   pedigree    of 
racers,  gastronomic  discussions  upon  ragouts  and  pates, 
and   other  still   more  questionable  subjects,  convinced 
Wilton  that  his  own  country  had  made  rapid  progress, 
during   four   years,  in    European  luxuries    and   follies. 
The  older  men  raved  of  politics,  and  day  after  day  con- 
demned their  "favorite  aversions."     Brokers  talked  of 
the  rise  and  fall  of  stock,  as  learnedly  and  as  eagerly  as 
upon  "  'change"  in  London.     In  short,  WTilton,  in  spite 
of  all  the  efforts  of  Monsieur  Toupet,  his  valet,  and  his 
own  exquisite  nonchalance,  found  himself  but  little  no- 
ticed.    Displeased  with  an  exhibition  where  he  could 
not  "  play  first  fiddle,"  he  resorted  to  the  yet  untried 
field    of  German   literature.     "  Them    Germans    are    a 
mighty  poor  people,"  said  a  puffing  little  piece  of  pom- 
posity, who  had  made  himself  quite  an  oracle  upon  some 
fashionable  topics;    "  their  learned  men  would  live   a 
whole  year  on  what  one  of  us  spends  in    a    month." 
"  Them  are  the  folks  what  sell  their  rats  and  other  var- 
mints for  pies,"  said  another  who  sat  opposite  him  ;  "  I 


A  SISTER'S  INFLUENCE.  123 

have  read  about  them  somewhere."  «  0,  no,  them  are 
the  Chinese,"  said  the  first  speaker  ;  "  but  nilly  desper- 
tandum  der  gustibus,  as  we  say,  they  are  as  good  as  a 
patty  de  grofor  is  to  us"  Here  he  was  greeted  by  a 
laugh  at  his  Latin  and  French,  which  he  took  for  ap- 
plause ;  and  having  gained  the  floor,  congressionally 
speaking,  he  entered  on  an  elaborate  discussion  upon 
bear-meat,  and  the  best  mode  of  cooking  it  among  the 
Indians,  and  continued  till  some  wag  asked  him,  if  he 
had  ever  lived  upon  beaver  and  raccoon,  and  what  was 
the  best  mode  of  dressing  them,  which  effectually  silenced 
the  little  man.  Wilton  did  not  again  venture  upon  the 
German.  But  one  resource  was  left,  —  virtu. 

His  raptures  upon  foreign  chef- d'ceuv res  were  met  by 
a  cool  assertion,  that  the  Academy  of  the  Arts  of  De- 
sign could  show  as  fine  an  exhibition  as  any  in  the 
world.  When  he  spoke  with  enthusiasm  of  the  old  mas- 
ters, he  was  told,  that  was  merely  a  prejudice  ;  and  one 
gentleman  who  had  seen  them,  said  they  were  nothing 
but  dark  shadows,  "  all  covered  with  smoke,  and  were 
not  half  so  neat  and  gay  as  our  pictures."  Of  statues, 
"  we  had  casts  of  all  of  them,  which  were  just  as  good 
as  the  originals."  Wilton  took  refuge  in  contemptuous 
silence. 

Another  week,  and  Wilton  was  near  the  home  of  his 
childhood.  Why  should  he  have  wandered  from  it  so  far 
and  so  long?  It  was  a  beautiful,  picturesque  village  in 
the  western  part  of  the  State  of  New  York.  The  lovely 
lake  glowed  like  burnished  silver  beneath  the  sky  of  sun- 
set. It  \vas  a  calm  and  trancuil  hour.  Those  thousand 
associations  linked  with  his  boyhood  came  thronging 
around  the  traveller,  and  that  half  painful,  half  pleasur- 


124  THE  YOUNG  LADY'S  HOME. 

able  emotion  which  a  return  after  long  absence  produces, 
overpowered  him.  A  gush  of  genuine  natural  feeling 
warmed  his  heart,  and  glowed  upon  his  countenance. 
A  tear  even  started  to  his  eye,  but  he  brushed  it  hastily 
away,  saying,  contemptuously, —  "  Am  I  still  a  boy?" 

Four  years  had  produced  only  that  change  in  the  fam- 
ily of  Wilton,  which  years  always  produce.  Time  had 
dealt  kindly  with  the  hearty,  good-natured  father ;  no 
wrinkles  yet  furrowed  his  smooth  brow ;  a  few  gray 
hairs  alone  silvered  his  side-locks.  Mrs.  Wilton,  too, 
was  but  little  changed.  William,  the  brother  of  George, 
from  a  stripling  of  seventeen,  seemed  a  young  giant, 
looking  down  upon  his  delicate  older  brother.  The 
grasp  of  his  strong  hand,  and  his  loud,  "How  are  you, 
George  ?"  quite  unsettled  the  nerves  of  the  elegant  ex- 
quisite. Striking,  too,  was  the  change  in  his  three  sisters, 
children  when  he  left  them,  now,  all  young  ladies. 

«  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  these  great  staring 
girls,  father  ?"  was  George's  first  salutation. 

"  Do  with  them !"  exclaimed  the  proud  father ;  "keep 
them  at  home  as  long  as  I  can ;  they  are  the  prettiest 
and  best-educated  girls  in  the  country.  Don't  be  bash- 
ful, girls,  before  your  brother  George ;  if  he  has  seen 
foreign  countries,  he  has  not  seen  any  better  than  his 
own,  —  nor  any  better  folks,  either."  George  acknow- 
ledged to  himself  that  they  were  fine  girls,  but  doubted 
much  if  he  should  find  them  well  educated. 

Uncommon  preparations  had  been  made  for  the  recep- 
tion of  the  travelled  brother.  The  tea-table  was  spread 
with  a  variety  of  cake  and  sweetmeats,  cold  ham,  smoked 
beef,  cheese,  waffles,  biscuit,  &c.,  &c. 

The  patience  of  the  whole  family  was  tested  while 


A  SISTER'S  INFLUENCE.  125 

George  made  his  elaborate  toilet.  Mr.  Wilton  paced  the 
hall,  drawing  out  his  watch  every  five  minutes.  "We 
have  waited  tea,  two  hours  before  he  came,  and  one  hour 
since,"  said  he;  "  spoilt  entirely,  spoilt  entirely!" 

"What  is  spoilt,  papa?"  said  Julia,  the  oldest 
daughter ;  "  the  tea  ?  I  can  make  it  fresh  at  table." 

"No,"  replied  Mr.  Wilton  half  sorrowfully,  "not 
the  tea ;  your  brother  is  spoilt ;  you  can't  make  him 
fresh  again." 

"  O,  he  is  not  at  all  injured  by  travelling,"  replied 
Julia;  "he  is  a  superb  man,  a  perfect  gentleman." 
She  had  been  educated  at  the  fashionable  institution  of 
Mrs.  Z ,  and  was  considered  the  belle  of  the  family. 

"What  do  you  think,  Clara?"  continued  Mr.  Wil- 
ton, turning  to  his  second  daughter;  "shall  we  ever 
take  any  more  comfort  in  your  brother?  Is  he  not 
quite  a  foreigner  ?" 

"He  is  very  much  changed,  undoubtedly,"  replied 
Clara;  "but  that  you  expect  of  course,  papa;  we  have 
yet  seen  him  but  a  moment." 

"  I  think  he  is  changed  altogether  for  the  worse,  for 
I  am  afraid  to  speak  to  him,"  said  Mary,  the  youngest 
sister,  a  black-eyed  romp  of  sixteen.  "What  do  you 
think  of  him,  Bill  ?" 

"  I  nabbed  his  white  paw,  and  gave  it  such  a  grip  he 
won't  get  over  it  very  soon,"  replied  William ;  "  and 
as  for  his  Mounseer,  I  had  a  great  notion  to  give  him  a 
hoist  into  the  yard,  when  he  came  parley-vooing  to  me 
about  some  «  varm  vater  for  Monseer  Vilton.'  " 

"  My  children,"  said  the  kind-hearted  mother,  "how 
can  you  be  finding  fault  already  with  your  long-absent 
brother ;  he  is  the  finest  looking  man  I  have  seen  in 
many  a  day." 
11* 


126 


Just  then,  George  made  his  appearance. 

"  Come  to  tea,"  said  Mr.  Wilton  ;  "  we  have  waited 
long  enough  in  all  conscience." 

" So  you  take  tea  yet,  mother?"  said  George,  gal- 
lantly offering  his  arm. 

"  Take  tea !  to  be  sure  we  do  ;  how  could  we  get 
along  without  it  ?" 

"  Why,  in  Europe  we  dine  about  this  hour,  and  tea, 
as  a  meal,  is  quite  unknown.  Diable!"  exclaimed 
George,  as  he  reached  the  bountiful  tea-table  ;  "  what  a 
profusion  of  Yankee  sweets!  cold  ham,  and  raw  beef, 
too  ! — barbarous !" 

"  Barbarous  indeed,"  lisped  Julia  ;  "  we  never  had 
any  thing  but  a  bit  of  dry  toast  or  sponge  cake  at  tea  in 
New  York,  and  it  looked  so  odd  to  me  when  I  first 
came  home." 

"Come,  sit  down,  Bill,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  "we  can 
eat  cold  ham  or  raw  beef,  after  waiting  three  hours  be- 
yond our  usual  time." 

"That  we  can,  for  I  am  half  starved,"  said  Bill, 
driving  his  fork  into  the  ham,  and  cutting  off  a  goodly 
slice ;  "I  don't  see  what  difference  it  makes  whether 
we  call  it  tea  or  dinner,  it 's  all  the  same  thing ;  we  eat 
when  we  are  hungry,  and  drink  when  we  are  dry." 

Clara  poured  tea,  and  presided  at  table  with  ease  and 
dignity.  George  balanced  his  tea-spoon  upon  his  cup 
awhile,  and  then  called  his  valet  to  bring  some  claret, 
and  he  would  "just  taste  a  bit  of  cheese.  He  did  not 
knowT,  however,  that  he  could  venture,  as  it  was  neither 
Stilton  nor  Parmesan."  Clara  saw  an  angry  frown 
upon  her  father's  face,  and  changed  the  subject  by  ask- 
ing George  if  New  York  had  not  improved  during  his 
absence. 


A  SISTER'S  INFLUENCE.  127 

"  Very  much ;  I  am  not  at  all  ashamed  of  our  city ; 
she  looks  proudly  as  you  approach  her,  and  very 
well  sustains  a  nearer  view;  but  the  people,  —  the  peo- 
pie " 

"  Take  anotker  cup  of  tea,  George,"  interrupted 
Clara,  fearing  again  to  see  the  unwonted  visitant  upon 
her  father's  pleasant  face. 

George  now  remained  silent,  attentively  studying  the 
countenance  of  his  sister  Clara.  " Hazel  eyes,  —  no; 
deep,  dark  gray ;  the  finest  eyes  without  exception  that  I 
ever  saw ;  but  so  hidden  beneath  those  long  lashes  and 
overhanging  brow,  that  half  their  power  lies  waiting  to 
be  called  forth.  Beautiful,  brilliant  complexion, — Eng- 
lish entirely  ;  a  most  feminine  mouth,  and  a  very  tolera- 
ble straight  nose,  —  not  handsome,  after  all ;  don't  like 
the  expression, —  don't  understand  it."  Thus  thought 
George,  as  he  scrutinized  his  sister's  face  with  the  most 
complete  nonchalance.  During  this  time  silence  had 
been  maintained ;  it  was  broken  by  Mr.  Wilton. 

"  Clara,  what  is  the  matter,  child  ?  are  you  ill  ?  You 
have  much  more  color  than  usual." 

"  I  am  perfectly  well,  thank  you." 

"  Where  are  your  spirits,  then  ?" 

"  Somewhat  like  the  spirits  of  Glendower ;  they  will 
not  always  come,  even  when  you  do  call  them.  When 
a  long-expected  pleasure  arrives  at  last,  I  am  apt  to  be 
a  little  sad ;  I  cannot  tell  why.  Have  you  not  felt  so, 
papa  ?" 

"  Yes,  often  and  often,  dear  child ;  but  I  never  quite 
understood  the  philosophy  of  it.  I  thought  you  would 
have  a  thousand  questions  to  ask  your  brother  when  he 
came  home." 


128 

"  I  shall,  when  we  are  better  acquainted." 

"Acquainted!"  said  Mr.  Wilton;  "that  sounds 
Strangely  between  brother  and  sister." 

"Excuse  me,  father,''  said  Clara,  slightly  blushing; 
"  my  brother  does  not  know  me  at  all ;  and  why  should 
he  ?  Eight  years  have  elapsed  since  we  have  lived  to- 
gether, excepting  during  his  short  vacations  while  at  col- 
lege. Our  characters  must  have  changed  as  much  as 
our  persons  during  that  time." 

"Very  true,"  said  George;  "I  only  remember  you 
as  a  curly-headed,  blue-eyed,  laughing  girl,  whom  I  used 
to  call  my  bacchante,  and  crown  with  vine-leaves  to 
make  the  resemblance  complete." 

"  Or  pin  paper  wings  on  my  shoulders,  to  make  me 
look  like  a  fairy,  sylph,  or  something  else,"  said  Clara, 
her  countenance  brightening  at  the  recollection  of  her 
merry  childhood. 

"Blue  eyes!"  said  Mrs.  Wilton;  "Clara  never  had 
blue  eyes ;  they  were  always  a  sort  of  gray." 

" N'importe,"  said  George;  "I  always  thought  they 
were  blue ;  I  should  not  have  known  Clara  at  all,  she 
has  become  so  staid,  so  dignified.  What  do  you  think 
of  rne,  sis?"  continued  he,  playfully. 

"  I  have  not  made  up  my  mind  what  to  think  of  you 
yet,  brother." 

"Will  your  high  mightiness  be  pleased,  when  you 
have  fully  perused  me,  to  inform  me  of  the  important 
decision  ?"  said  George,  changing  his  tone  to  one  in- 
tended to  be  very  sarcastic. 

The  large  orbs  of  Clara  were  quickly  suffused  with 
tears ;  she  fixed  them  seriously  upon  George  and  re- 
plied,—  "The  opinion  of  a  simple  country-girl  like 


129 

myself  can  be  of  little  consequence  to  an  accomplished 
foreigner  " 

"I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  her;  was  she  ever 
from  home  ?"  whispered  he  to  Julia. 

"  From  home !  she  was  two  years  with  me  at  Mrs. 
Z 's." 

"  Possible !  then  I  am  more  puzzled  than  ever." 

They  then  rose  from  the  table.  Mr.  Wilton  said  he 
and  William  had  some  business  to  transact,  and  George 
might  go  and  entertain  his  mother  and  sisters  in  the 
drawing-room.  When  there,  George  drew  his  mother 
some  distance  from  his  sisters,  and  began  questioning  her 
in  a  low  voice.  "  Mother,  don't  you  think  your  son 
has  improved  by  travelling?" 

"Very  much  indeed,  with  the  exception  of  those 
monstrous  whiskers  ;  they  really  disfigure  you." 

"  0,  they  are  all  the  fashion,  and  quite  indispensable 
in  Europe.  You  really  have  got  three  nice  girls  ;  rough 
and  unpolished,  but  brilliant  gems.  Julia,  with  her  city 
airs  and  graces,  I  perfectly  understand ;  she  is  beautiful. 
Mary,  the  laughing  hoyden,  wild  as  a  young  squaw  ;  she 
is  a  splendid  creature ;  but  I  don't  know  what  to  make 
of  Clara." 

"  Clara !"  said  Mrs.  Wilton,  her  eyes  brightening. 
"You  don't  understand  Clara!  why,  she  is  the  pride 
of  your  father." 

"  That  may  be,  but  what  are  her  pretensions  ?" 

"Pretensions!  she  is  the  most  unpretending  girl  in 
the  world  ;  our  domestics  idolize  her." 

"  That  may  all  be  true,  yet  it  gives  me  no  insight  to 
ner  character." 

"  I  lean  upon  her  for  every  thing.     You  know  I  have 


130  THE  YOUNG  LADY7S  HOME. 

delicate  health ;  Julia  is  fond  of  music  and  drawing,  and 
can't  bear  to  do  any  thing  in  the  kitchen ;  she  has  no 
taste  for  household  matters,  and  Mary  is  too  young ;  so 
the  burden  comes  upon  Clara." 

"  Then  she  is  one  of  your  bustling  notables,  I  sup- 
pose ;  a  mere  household  drudge,  like  most  Yankee 
women." 

"  You  will  find  her  out  in  time,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton, 
smiling  significantly. 

"As  for  Bill,  he  is  a  rough,  coarse  fellow;  one 
needs  a  vocabulary  for  his  slang ;  it  is  utterly  unintelli- 
gible." 

"  He  is  a  driving  fellow.  He  loves  horses  rather 
too  well,  and  has  been  a  little  wild ;  but  lately  he  has 
made  some  great  speculations,  and  is  getting  to  be  very 
rich." 

"The  flouring  business  goes  on  yet,  I  suppose ?  I 
hoped  father  had  retired  from  it  before  this  time." 

"0,  your  father  has  not  confined  himself  to  that 
alone,  in  these  stirring  times.  He  has  been  speculating 
in  almost  every  thing." 

"  Then  I  hope  he  is  rich  enough  to  leave  off  making 
money,  and  enjoy  it  like  a  gentleman." 

They  were  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Wilton 
and  his  second  son.  "  William  has  got  to  start  for  the 
West  on  business  of  importance,  to-morrow  morning, 
bright  and  early,  and  as  I  suppose  you  don't  rise  before 
the  sun,  George,  you  won't  see  him  again  soon." 

"I  was  just  thinking  about  retiring,"  said  George, 
"  for  I  am  intolerably  fatigued  ;  I  must  summon  Toupet ; 
where  is  the  bell  ?"  said  he,  looking  around  the  room 
for  a  bell-cord. 


131 

"  We  don't  use  them ;  help  won't  come  for  bell- 
ringing  here ;  they  are  too  independent,"  said  Bill. 
"  Your  Johnny  Crapeau  ought  to  be  tied  to  a  bell-rope, 
or  have  one  round  his  neck,  for  making  a  white  slave 
of  himself;  a  fellow,  too,  dressed  in  broadcloth  and 
satin.  George,  how  can  you  have  such  a  man-doll 
about  you  ?" 

"  Good  night,"  said  George,  bowing  around.  "Bon 
soir,  mes  belles  sceurs." 

Only  one  week  had  passed  away ;  George  had  seen 
all  the  natives,  as  he  called  the  villagers,  and  excited 
their  wonder  or  scorn,  and  was  dying  of  ennui.  He 
must  be  off  to  Saratoga.  The  country  was  too  intoler- 
ably stupid. 

"  Well,  George,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  "  what  have  you 
been  about  in  Europe?  I  have  not  questioned  you 
much  yet.  Have  you  got  your  M.  D.  ?" 

"  No  M.  D.  for  me.  I  hate  the  whole  study  and 
practice  of  medicine." 

"  Why,  you  went  to  Paris  to  walk  the  hospitals." 

"  I  did,  and  walked  through  them  and  out  of  them 
for  ever.  I  found  I  had  too  delicate  nerves  for  a  phy- 
sician." 

"  Then  what  in  the  name  of  common  sense  have  you 
been  studying  these  four  years,  spending  my  thousands 
abroad  ?" 

"  Tableaux ,  statues,  gems,  coins,  architecture,  an- 
tiquities, la  belle  science  de  la  cuisine,  &c.,  &c." 

"  Enough,  enough !  by  which  of  these  are  you  going 
to  earn  your  living  ?" 

"  By  the  last,  I  suspect ;  but  that  is  such  a  homely 
question." 


132 

"It's  a  home  question,  and  one  that  must  be  an- 
swered, Sir.  Here,  Bill  has  been  staying  with  us  ever 
since  you  left,  with  no  advantages  but  common-school 
learning ;  but  he  is  a  keen  one,  a  real  man  of  business ; 
he  is  worth  a  round  hundred  thousand,  himself." 

"  I  am  glad  he  has  been  so  successful ;  you  will  have 
the  goodness,  Sir,  to  allow  me  to  take  time  for  consid- 
eration ;  and  as  this  is  the  season  of  travelling,  I  should 
like  to  take  Julia  to  Saratoga.  She  is  too  pretty  to  be 
cooped  up  for  ever  in  this  mean  little  village." 

"The  village  is  good  enough, — the  prettiest  village 
in  the  country,  everybody  says." 

"  0,  certainly,  the  scenery  is  very  beautiful  ;  but 
you  know,  father,  Julia  never  can  make  her  market 
here ;  there  is  nobody  good  enough  for  her.  All  the 
world  goes  to  Saratoga  at  this  season." 

"  The  more  fools  they,  to  leave  their  own  comfort- 
able homes  to  be  shut  up  there  in  rooms  ten  feet  by  six, 
when  the  weather  's  melting  hot.  Besides,  I  don't  want 
to  send  my  girls  like  hogs  to  market." 

"An  unseemly  comparison,  father;  they  are  beauti- 
ful girls,  and  I  should  not  be  at  all  ashamed  of  Julia,  at 
Saratoga,  or  anywhere  else." 

"Of  Julia!  why  not  Clara,  too  ;  you  are  not  ashamed 
of  her,  are  you  ?" 

"  Not  exactly ;  but  she  is  quite  eccentric,  has  some 
very  common,  plain  notions,  and  is  rather  country-bred. 
You  must  excuse  me,  father ;  most  American  women 
are  rather  deficient  in  manners." 

"  The  American  women  are  the  most  virtuous  women 
in  the  world,  whatever  their  manners  may  be ;  and  as 
for  Clara's  not  being  fit  to  go  to  Saratoga,  she  is  fit  to 


A  SISTER'S  INFLUENCE.  133 

go  there,  or  to  Washington,  if  she  is  not  fit  for  the  court 
of  King  Louis  Philippe,  which  I  hope  and  trust  she 
never  will  be.  If  she  wants  to  go  to  Saratoga,  she 
may  go."  So  saying,  he  went  to  seek  his  favorite 
daughter. 

George  cared  little  how  his  point  was  gained,  if  he 
only  succeeded.  The  thought,  however,  crossed  his 
mind, —  "I  should  be  ashamed  of  Clara's  downright 
honesty  among  fashionable  people." 

Mr.  Wilton  soon  returned  to  say  that  Julia  wished 
very  much  to  go  to  the  Springs,  and  Clara  would  like 
it,  if  it  were  perfectly  agreeable  to  him,  and  her  dear 
mother  could  spare  her.  "  Dear  child,"  continued  Mr. 
W.,  brushing  a  tear  from  his  eye,  "  we  don't  know  how 
to  spare  her  a  single  week ;  but  we  will  not  be  selfish  ; 
she  needs  some  recreation.  You  may  go,  George,  and 
look  out  sharp  for  your  pretty  sisters,  there.  It  is  the 
haunt  of  fortune-hunters." 

George  was  not  very  much  pleased  to  owe  his  father's 
consent  to  one  whom  he  styled  "  a  pert  little  miss,  who 
had  unaccountably  gained  the  ascendency  over  her  doting 
father." 

Every  thing  was  soon  put  into  a  regular  train  of  pre- 
paration. George  superintended  all  things,  —  giving  di- 
rections to  the  mantua-maker  about  sleeves,  boddice- 
waists,  and  frills ;  very  much  to  the  amusement  and  an- 
noyance of  the  village  artiste. 

Two  hundred  miles  are  nothing  at  all  in  these  railroad 
times.  Every  thing  in  the  country  drives  too  fast.  An 
impetus  has  been  given  that  has  sent  us  fifty  years  too 
far  ahead.  —  But  to  our  story. 

"  This  is  a  brilliant  assemblage,"  said  George,  as  he 
12 


134 

promenaded  the  ball-room  of  the at  Saratoga,  with 

Julia  and  Clara  ;  "I  am  not  ashamed  of  it." 

"  You  often  make  use  of  that  expression,  George 
Why  should  you  be  ashamed  of  your  country  or  your 
countrymen  ?"  asked  Clara. 

"  I  shall  be  ashamed  of  one  of  my  countrywomen,  if 
she  chooses  this  time  and  place  for  a  sermon." 

They  were  interrupted  by  the  approach  of  the  Hon. 

Mr.  G ,  a  United  States  Senator,  who  had  become 

acquainted  with  both  the  girls,  when  on  a  tour  to  the 
West  the  preceding  summer.  Julia  introduced  him  to 
her  brother. 

"Allow  me  to  rob  you  of  one  of  these  ladies,"  said 
the  honorable  gentleman,  offering  his  arm  to  Clara.  She 
modestly  accepted  it,  and  thus  they  promenaded  the 
room  until  the  dancing  commenced. 

The  beautiful  sisters  attracted  much  attention.  Julia 
was  pronounced,  by  connoisseurs,  a  belle,  the  leading  star 
of  the  season.  Clara,  from  her  animated  conversation 
with  the  senator,  and  her  decidedly  intellectual  physi- 
ognomy, was  declared  a  blue.  With  a  sensible  man 
like  Mr.  G ,  she  was  perfectly  at  ease.  His  con- 
versation interested  and  amused  her,  and  her  own  be- 
came animated  and  brilliant.  Her  countenance  was  as 
variable  as  her  feelings,  and  ever  a  true  index  to  them, 
the  vivacity  and  spirit  which  now  illuminated  it,  gave  a 
new  brilliancy  to  her  eyes,  and  a  finer  glow  to  her  com- 
plexion. 

"  That  is  the  finest  face  that  I  ever  saw,"  said  an 
elderly  gentleman  /,o  his  friend  ;  "  who  can  it  be  ?" 

"You  observe,  Mr.  G is  the  gentleman  in  at- 
tendance." 


135 

"  I  did  not  observe  it  before.  I  must  seek  an  intro- 
duction," said  the  first  speaker,  who  was  one  of  the 
most  distinguished  of  our  countrymen. 

Although  Julia's  beauty  had  at  first  attracted  universal 
admiration,  at  the  end  of  a  week  Clara  was  the  centre 
of  attraction.  George  was  surprised  to  hear  her  now 
talking  French  with  a  foreign  minister,  perfectly  self- 
possessed  ;  then  chatting,  with  the  same  simplicity  and 
ease  as  she  would  have  done  with  her  father,  with  the 
gallant  senator.  "  I  might  well  say  I  did  not  know  that 
girl,"  thought  he.  In  spite  of  all  his  efforts  to  be  dis- 
tingue,—  his  wines,  gastronomic  science,  &c.,  &c., 
with  the  efficient  aid  of  Monsieur  Toupet  at  the  toilet, — 
poor  George  was  obliged  to  owe  his  distinction  and  the 
attention  he  received,  to  the  beauty  of  one  sister,  and  the 
talents  and  charming  manners  of  the  other.  He  had  to 
submit  to  being  constantly  named  as  "the  brother  of  the 
Misses  Wilton."  He  was  acting  a  part  that  sat  un- 
gracefully upon  him,  and  made  pretensions  which  every 
body's  pride  resisted.  Clara,  on  the  contrary,  was 
independent  and  original,  without  being  conscious  that 
she  was  so.  She  pleased,  because  she  made  the  grave 
and  the  gay,  the  young  and  old,  pleased  with  themselves. 
Her  object  was  not  to  attract  attention,  not  to  compel 
admiration,  but  the  same  that  it  had  been  habitually  at 
home,  — to  make  every  one  happy.  Of  course,  those 
who-  approached  her  put  on  their  holiday  faces  and  ap- 
peared to  the  best  advantage.  There  was  a  truthfulness 
in  her  very  nature  that  won  confidence.  She  gave  her 
opinions,  when  they  were  asked,  with  unshrinking  moral 
courage,  but  obtruded  them  upon  no  one,  and  was  ever 
the  gentle  but  firm  advocate  of  virtue  and  right  princi- 


136 


pies.  Vice  stood  abashed  in  her  presence,  and  "  felt 
how  awful  goodness  is  ;  and  truth,  how  lovely." 

George  paid  but  little  attention  to  his  sisters.  They 
had  found  an  excellent  chaperon  in  an  aunt  of  the  Hon. 

Mr.  G ,  an  elderly  and  very  respectable  lady  from 

the  South,  who  took  a  truly  maternal  interest  in  them. 

Mr.  G himself  was  constantly  of  the  party,  and 

rode,  talked,  walked,  just  as  it  suited  their  pleasure. 

"  Girls,"  said  George,  one  morning  as  they  walked 
in  the  piazza  of  the  hotel,  "  I  have  spent  my  last  penny, 
—  I  am  literally  sans  argent.  This  Saratoga  is  a  horrid 
bore  after  all,  where  one  spends  money  deucedly.  Your 
purses,  girls,  if  you  hav.e  any  to  spare."  The  sisters 
handed  them,  most  readily;  they  had  been  scarcely 
touched. 

"Pay  our  bill,"  said  the  straightforward  Clara,  "  and 
let  us  go  home  immediately,  George,  if  you  have  enough." 

"  O,  cannot  we  stay  a  little  longer,  Clara  ?"  said 
Julia,  eagerly ;  "  I  do  not  wish  to  leave  yet." 

"  Stay !  to  be  sure  we  can,"  replied  George ;  "  and 
I  have  no  idea  of  quitting  yet.  You  must  write  home  to 
the  old  man  for  more  money,  Clara ;  you  can  get  any 
thing  out  of  him." 

"  What  shall  I  tell  him  you  have  done  with  the  ample 
funds  with  which  he  supplied  you  ?" 

"Nothing;  the  old  fellow7  knows  there  are  ten  thou- 
sand ways  of  disposing  of  the  needful." 

"  I  beg  of  you,  George,  to  speak  more  respectfully 
of  our  kind  father." 

"  Spare  your  eloquence  for  the  Hon.  Mr.  G ," 

said  George,  and  was  off  in  a  twinkling. 

The  next  morning  found  George  Wilton  extremely  ill, 


A  SISTER'S  INFLUENCE.  137 

threatened  with  fever  and  delirium.  He  insisted  upon 
going  home  immediately.  As  Saratoga  was  no  place 
for  them  under  these  circumstances,  they  immediately 
consented.  "  But  what  shall  we  do,"  said  George ; 
"  I  spent  all  your  money  last  night  at  the  billiard-table. 
I  came  home  somewhat  tipsy,  I  believe ;  for  I  have  a 
faint  recollection  of  scolding  and  kicking  Toupet,  and 
the  rascal  has  decamped  with  my  watch,  broaches,  rings, 
and  even  my  snuff-box."  The  girls  looked  at  each  other 
in  consternation.  Just  at  that  moment  a  knock  was 
heard  at  the  door  of  George's  room,  where  they  were 
holding  this  consultation  ;  a  waiter  handed  a  letter,  say- 
ing it  had  been  sent  by  express.  It  contained  the  mel- 
ancholy intelligence  that  Mr.  Wilton  had  been  seized 
with  a  fit  of  apoplexy,  and  was  in  imminent  danger. 
William  had  not  yet  returned.  Mrs.  Wilton  and  Mary 
begged  the  immediate  presence  of  George  and  his 
sisters. 

"  What  will  our  poor  father  do  without  his  Clara?" 
exclaimed  Julia,  bursting  into  tears. 

"We  must  start  for  home  to-day,  live  or  die,  Clara," 

said  George,  "  and  you  must  go  and  consult  Mr.  G 

about  the  readiest  means  of  conveyance." 

Poor  Clara  blushed,  and  for  a  moment  hesitated. 

"  It  is  no  time  for  fastidiousness,"  said  George. 

"It  is  no  time  for  reproaches,"  thought  Clara,  and 

went  to  ask  for  an  interview  with  Mr.  G in  the 

drawing-room. 

With  modest  embarrassment,  she  asked  his  advice 
and  assistance,  candidly  stating  all  the  difficulties  in 
which  they  were  involved. 

"My  dear  Miss  Wilton,"  said  Mr.  G ,  "the 

12* 


138 

pleasure  I  feel  in  being  able  to  assist  you  in  the  slightest 
degree  has*  one  drawback ;  gratitude  is  not  the  senti- 
ment that  I  wish  to  inspire  in  your  heart.  I  am  grieved 
to  place  you  under  the  least  obligation  to  me  for  a  mo- 
merit.  " 

"  You  need  not  regret  it,  since  I  am  not  unwilling  to 
incur  such  obligation." 

"  There  spoke  my  noble  Clara.  I  thank  you  a  thou- 
sand times.  And  will  you  allow  me  to  accompany  you 
home?  My  carriage  will  be  easier  for  poor  George 
than  any  other  conveyance." 

Clara's  heart  throbbed,  and  she  could  only  say, — 
"  O,  Sir,  you  are  very  kind." 

"I  would,  Clara,  that  any  other  time  had  offered, 
rather  than  this,  to  urge  my  hopes  and  ,wishes.  It  seems 
almost  cruel  to  improve  this  occasion,  when  you  are  in 
the  granting  mood;  but  your  frankness  and  independ- 
ence are  such,  as  to  leave  no  doubt  on  my  mind  that 
you  will  act  freely.  Will  you,  at  no  distant  day,  give 
me*  a  legal  claim  to  be  your  protector  ?  You  have 
known  for  some  time  how  entirely  my  happiness  is  in 
your  keeping." 

Clara  replied,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears,  —  "We 
shall  soon  see  my  dear  father.  I  must  hasten  to  tell 
George  and  Julia  of  your  arrangements  for  our  return." 

George's  illness  increased  every  hour,  until  at  length, 
when  they  reached  home,  he  was  in  a  violent  fever,  at- 
tended by  most  alarming  symptoms. 

Although  Mr.  Wilton  had  apparently  nearly  recovered 
his  bodily  health,  his  mind  was  hopelessly  impaired,  and 
it  was  deemed  imprudent  to  mention  George's  illness  in 
his  presence.  He  was  delighted  to  see  his  darling 


139 

Clara  again,  and  wondered  at  her  frequent  absences, 
while  she  was  in  her  brother's  room,  ministering  to  his 
comfort.  He  seemed,  indeed,  to  have  forgotten  his 
son's  return  from  Europe,  for  now  he  never  spoke  of 
him. 

Mr.  G left  the  village  soon  after  seeing  the 

family  reunited.  Although  Mr.  Wilton  was  in  such  a 
state  as  to  be  entirely  oblivious  to  many  things,  his 
mind  was  not  altogether  deranged.  To  the  proposal 

of  Mr.  G ,  he  yielded  a  pleased  consent,  saying, 

his  beloved  Clara  would  do  honor  to  any  station. 
It  was  affecting  to  hear  him,  at  the  same  time,  solemnly 
commit  her  to  his  care,  as  if  she  were  still  a  little  child, 
imploring  him  to  be  gentle  and  kind  to  the  helpless 
lamb  that  he  spared  from  his  own  bosom. 

George,  whose  constitution  had  been  somewhat  in- 
jured by  excess  in  the  luxuries  of  the  table,  continued 
alarmingly  ill,  and  entirely  hopeless  himself  of  recovery. 
Julia  had  been  his  favorite,  but  her  inefficiency  in  a 
sick-room  was  painful  to  him  and  to  herself.  Clara, 
unable  to  be  with  him  much  during  the  day,  watched  by 
his  bed-side  night  after  night.  She  slept  only  at  inter- 
vals during  the  daytime,  in  her  father's  easy-chair. 
He  was  perfectly  contented  so  long  as  he  could  look  at 
her  lovely  face,  and  seemed  not  to  perceive  that  it  was 
pale  and  anxious. 

"  Clara,"  said  George,  one  night,  as  she  sat  by  him, 
"  I  have  made"  a  discovery." 

"What  is  it,  brother?" 

"  I  know  your  governing  motives ;  those  deeply 
rooted  religious  principles,  which  I  have  never  appreci- 
ated, and  scarcely  till  now  believed  in  their  existence. 


140  THE  YOUNG  LADY'S  HOME. 

It  is  your  perfectly  feminine  character,  hamonizing  so 
beautifully  with  these  strong  principles,  that  excites  my 
wonder.  I  see  they  are  the  moving  power  of  the  whole 
moral  machine.  I  have  sought  only  my  own  pleasure, 
lived  to  no  good  purpose,  and  look  back  upon  a  spent 
life  of  utter  worthlessness  with  remorse." 

"Say,  rather,  dear  George,  with  repentance." 

"  Talk  to  me  often,  dear  sister,  on  this  subject ;  I 
am  but  a  heathen." 

"  I  can  do  better  than  talk  to  you,  George ;  I  can 
send  for  our  excellent  friend,  Dr.  Molesworth." 

"  No,  no,  Clara,  I  prefer  listening  to  you ;  it  is  his 
business,  his  duty " 

"Stay,  brother;  he  then  understands  better  than  I 
do  these  momentous  truths." 

"  That  may  be  ;  but  you  feel  their  happy  influence  ; 
while  the  dew  is  still  upon  the  flowers  of  life,  you  have 
thought  deeply,  and  given  the  incense  of  obedience  from 
a  warm,  pure  heart." 

" You  know  not  how  sinful  that  heart  is;  —  but 
since  you  are  willing  to  listen  to  these  sublime  truths, 
I  will  read  to  you  from  a  book  that  can  give  you  in- 
struction and  consolation."  So  saying,  she  took  up 
her  little  Bible,  which  she  had  often  used  while  her 
brother  slept,  and  only  waited  for  a  suitable  opportunity 
to  read  aloujd.  „ 

"  What  shall  I  read  to  you,  George?" 

"  The  parable  of  the  prodigal  son,  if  you  please." 

As  she  read  with  touching  pathos  this  inimitable  par- 
able, George  made  no  comment,  but  tears  were  upon 
his  emaciated  cheeks.  Soon  after,  he  said  to  her, — 
"t  have  been  viewing  the  character  and  conxluct  of 


141 


young  men  in  the  light  of  eternity.  It  will  not  even  bear 
the  light  of  common  sense  ;  but  in  view  of  that  ac- 
count, which  all  must  render  at  the  judgment-seat  of 
God,  how  does  it  appear?  Fearfully  wrong.  If  I  could 
but  live  my  life  over, — but  that  may  not  be, — and  if 
I  should  be  spared,  could  I  persuade  the  infatuated  be- 
ings who  are  chasing  delusive  bubbles,  of  their  folly, — 
of  their  crime  ?  Clara,  your  sex  have  much  to  answer 
for.  Your  influence  is  all  powerful  with  us;  why  is  it 
not  more  frequently  exerted  for  our  good  ?" 

"  The  influence  is  mutual ;  the  things  which  you 
admire,  in  general,  are  not  such  as  exalt  our  character 
as  rational  and  immortal  beings, — beauty,  wealth,  wit, 
fashion ;  but  as  long  as  they  are  the  main  object  sought 
by  man,  you  must  not  wonder  that  we  are  eager  for 
their  possession." 

"  Yet,  how  many  more  of  your  sex  are  found  on  the 
side  of  religion,  than  of  ours!  What  is  it  that  so  fatally 
blinds  us?  Alas!  that  I  should  have  discovered  my 
folly  too  late!" 

"  It  is  not  too  late,"  said  Clara. 

"  Not  too  late  for  repentance,"  he  replied,  mournful- 
ly, "  but  too  late  for  renovation  ;  I  cannot  now  lead  a 
new  life,  for  it  is  almost  spent." 

"Not  too  late  for  regeneration,"  replied  Clara;  "for 
a  new  heart,  God,  through  the  influence  of  his  Spirit, 
will  give  you,  if  you  earnestly  desire  and  ask  for  it." 

< 'My  mind  is  all  dark  upon  these  subjects  ;  they  are 
mysterious,  and  I  have  called  them  a  delusion." 

Clara  was  now  summoned  hastily  out  of  the  room. 
Her  brother  William  had  arrived ;  his  schemes  had 
proved  visionary.  The  two  largest  debtors  of  his 


142  THE  YOUNG  LADY'S  HOME. 

"*.  ^i- 

father  and  himself  had  failed,  and  involved  them  deep- 
ly. Various  speculations  had  been  engaged  in  with  his 
father's  capital ;  even  his  mills  and  house  had  been 
mortgaged  to  furnish  funds  for  these  speculations. 

William  had  not  been  prepared  for  the  trying  circum- 
stances that  awaited  his  arrival.  A  generous,  merry- 
hearted  fellow,  thoughtless  and  venturesome ;  when  the 
gales  of  summer  floated  the  family  bark,  a  pleasant  com- 
panion, but  totally  unfit  to  take  the  helm  during  the 
wintry  storm.  He  shrank  dismayed  from  the  respon- 
sibility that  now  devolved  upon  him.  Clara  encouraged 
him  to  have  more  confidence  in  himself. 

"  O  Clara,"  he  replied,  "  would  that  I  had  your 
strength  of  mind!" 

Clara  replied, — "  You  have  not  hitherto  been  called 
upon  to  exert  your  own  ;  you  will  find  it  sufficient,  if 
you  have  more  reliance  upon  yourself.  You  must  come 
to  the  task  with  courage  and  humility,  for  they  are  not 
incompatible.  If  my  father  should  inquire  of  you  about 
his  affairs,  tell  the  truth  ;  it  is  the  safest  and  the  best 
course.  If  he  should  not,  do  not  allude  to  business  at 
all.  Take  courage,  and  all  may  yet  be  well." 

"Take  courage,"  said  William;  "yes,  I  will; 
when  I  have  such  a  sister,  shall  I  shrink  from  my 
duty  ?" 

Clara  was  just  leaving  the  room ;  she  turned  back, 
and  said  solemnly, — "You  have  a  mother  and  three 
sisters,  who  must  lean  upon  you;  look  to  God  for 
strength  in  this  trying  hour." 

Scarcely  had  the  words  passed  her  lips,  when  they 
were  summoned  to  the  bedside  of  their  dying  father. 
A  second  fit  of  apoplexy  had  seized  him,  and  he  was 
already  speechless ;  a  few  moments,  and  all  was  over. 


143 

Poor  George  rang  the  little  bell  by  his  bed-side, 
again  and  again,  unheeded.  Alarmed  at  the  long  ab- 
ence  of  Clara,  he  crept  from  his  bed,  and  slowly  made 
his  way  to  his  father's  room.  With  his  ghastly  counte- 
nance and  emaciated  figure,  he  looked  like  a  spectre 
among  the  weeping  family.  He  cast  one  look  of  agony 
at  his  departed  father,  and  then  suffered  himself  to  be 
led  by  his  brother  to  his  own  apartment.  "  How  un- 
kind 1  was  to  you,  George,  when  last  I  saw  you,"  said 
William,  with  honest  frankness; — "I  hope  you  don't 
remember  it  now." 

"  My  brother,  the  unkindness  was  all  on  my  part ; 

forgive  me !" 

*  #  *  *  *  *  # 

Weeks  passed  away,  and  George  Wilton,  after  a 
severe  struggle  for  life,  was  decidedly  convalescent. 
Still  he  needed  much  attention.  William  was  now  ever 
at  hand  to  aid  him ;  and  Clara,  though  now  obliged  to 
devote  much  time  to  her  woe-stricken  mother,  was  still 
"  his  ministering  angel." 

"How  could  I  have  been  so  blind  as  not  to  perceive 
that  admirable  girl's  worth,  when  I  first  returned  from 
Europe  ?"  exclaimed  George,  one  day,  as  she  left  his 
room. 

"  Because,"  replied  William,  "  you  were  then  a  for- 
eigner, and  she  is  a  true  American  girl." 

"She  is  more,  a  true  Christian, —  unostentatious, — 
not  given  to  cant, — charitable, — cheerful.  I  am  amused 
sometimes,  however,  by  her  strong  attachment  to  our 
church  ;  for  so  I  trust  I  may  term  it,  unworthy  member 
as  I  am." 

"  I  do  not  think  she  is  illiberal,  nor  bigoted." 


144 

"  By  no  means,  or  she  would  never  have  exercised 
such  a  blessed  influence  over  my  mind.  I  came  home 
a  swaggering  fool ;  ashamed  of  my  country,  and  —  God 
forgive  me  ! — of  my  relations,  too  !  If  my  life  should  be 
spared,  I  hope  I  shall  redeem  my  character,  that  they  may 
never  again  have  occasion  to  be  ashamed  of  me." 

"You  are  too  severe  upon  yourself,  brother;  only 
a  little  inflated  you  were ;  a  few  severe  puffs,  and  you 
are  quite  natural  again.  If  you  owe  much  to  Clara,  I 
am  equally  her  debtor.  When  you  are  stronger,  I  will 
tell  you  all  about  it." 

After  the  expiration  of  a  number  of  months,  when 
health  and  some  degree  of  cheerfulness  were  restored 
to  the  Wilton  family,  and  the  affairs  had  all  been  set- 
tled, so  that  every  creditor  was  satisfied,  George  re- 
sumed the  study  of  his  profession.  There  was  still 
a  sufficient  sum  remaining  to  purchase  a  good  farm. 
William  became  a  thorough,  persevering  agriculturist, 
making  his  house  a  pleasant  home  for  his  mother  and 
younger  sister. 

It  was  not  until  all  the  duties  which  Clara  owed  to 
her  family,  in  their  bereavement  and  affliction,  had  been 
affectionately  and  faithfully  performed,  that  she  gave  her 
hand  to  Mr.  G . 

On  that  occasion,  though  the  wedding  was  a  private 
one,  Clara  remembered  her  promise  to  her  school-mates  * 
Isabella  and  Geraldine.  The  former  accepted  the  invi- 
tation ;  Geraldine  had  not  returned  from  Paris. 

"Now,  Clara,  you  shall  wear  the  gold  medal,"  said 
Isabella,  taking  it  from  a  jewel-box  upon  the  dressing- 
table.  "You  are  all  arrayed  for  this  fearful  ceremony  ; 

*  See  Introduction. 


145 

but  I  do  insist  that  you  wear  this,  as  a  testimony  of  youi 

worth,  for  fear  the  Hon.  Mr.  G will  repent  before 

he  gets  to  church,  and  turn  back,  unless  there  is  golden 
proof  of  your  superiority,  mental  and  moral,  right  be- 
fore his  eyes." 

Clara.  Isabella,  dear,  you  are  the  same  gay,  thought- 
less creature  as  ever. 

Isabella  (sighing  deeply).  "Yet,  Clara,  I  am  not  hap- 
py ;  the  pleasures  that  I  so  fondly  anticipated  grow  wea- 
risome. I  have  partaken  of  them  to  satiety  :  but  I  can- 
not withdraw  from  the  brilliant  circle,  of  which,  they 
flatter  me,  I  am  the  life  and  soul.  Come,  we  must  go 
down  into  the  drawing-room  ;  and  since  you  think  there 
is  no  danger  that  the  honorable  gentleman  will  change 
his  mind,  I'll  leave  the  medal  where  I  found  it.  O, 

how  I  burned  with  envy,  when  Mrs.  Z presented 

it  to  you,  before  the  elite  assembled  at  our  examination. 
You  deserved  it,  dearest,  —  you  were  the  best,  the  kind- 
est scholar,  —  you  have  maintained  that  superiority  as  a 
sister  and  daughter,  and  I  know  you  will  make  such  an 
obedient,  loving  wife,  that  when  men  want  to  recom- 
mend a  pattern  to  their  wilful  ones,  they  will  say, — 
"  Now  only  look  at  Mrs.  G ." 

Clara.  Spare  me,  Isabella  ;  I  am  painfully  conscious 
of  my  imperfections,  and  you  deepen  this  consciousness 
by  your  extravagant  praises.  My  reliance  is  upon  Him 
who  has  hitherto  been  my  guide  arid  strength,  and  in  this 
new  and  solemn  relation,  I  humbly  trust,  His  grace  will 
be  sufficient  for  me. 

s 

To  the  younger  brothers  and  sisters  of  a  family,  the 
eldest  sister  stands  in  a  deeply  interesting  and  responsi- 
ole  relation.     With  wondering  and  admiring  eyes  they 
13 


146 

look  up  to  her,  and  as  she  walks  in  loveliness  and  beau- 
ty, the  boy's  heart  throbs  with  exulting  pride,  as  he  ex- 
claims,—  "She  is  my  sister ;"  and  the  little  girl  lisps 
her  sayings,  or  pleads  her  example, — "  Sister  does 
so." 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  delineations  of  this  charac- 
ter has  been  drawn  by  Miss  Baillie, —  «  The  young,  the 
sweet,  the  good,  the  brave  Griseld."  Her  father  was 
one  of  Scotland's  patriots,  who  in  perilous  times  fled 
his  country  and  found  a  refuge  in  Holland,  where  his 
scanty  means  afforded  but  a  meagre  maintenance.  The 
poem  is  founded  upon  fact,  the  Lady  Griseld  being  one 
of  the  ancestral  worthies  of  the  Baillie  family.  Much 
is  sung  of  the  dauntless  courage  and  daring  deeds  of  the 
brave  heroine,  "  though  o'er  her  head  had  scarcely  run 
her  nineteenth  year."  But  the  simple,  domestic  virtues 
so  graphically  described  by  the  accomplished  author- 
ess, furnish  a  fine  example  for  my  gentle  readers, 
especially  if  troublous  times  should  cloud  their  life's 
mo  :ning. 

"  And  well,  with  ready  hand  and  heart, 

Each  task  of  toilsome  duty  taking, 
Did  one  dear  inmate  play  her  part, — 

The  last  asleep,  the  earliest  waking. 
Her  hand  each  nightly  couch  prepared, 
And  frugal  rneal  on  which  they  fared  ; 
Unfolding  spread  the  servet  whiteu 
And  decked  the  board  with  tankard  h right. 
Through  fretted  hose  and  garment  rent, 
Her  tiny  needle  deftly  went, 
Till  hateful  penury,  so  graced, 
Was  scarcely  in  their  dwelling  traced. 
With  reverence  to  the  old  she  clung, 
With  sweet  affection  to  the  young. 
To  her  was  crabbed  lesson  said ; 
To  her  the  sly  petition  made ; 


A  SISTER'S  INFLUENCE.  147 

To  her  was  told  each  petty  care ; 
By  her  was   lisped  the  tardy  prayer, 
What  time  the  urchin,  half  undrest 
And  half  asleep,  was  put  to  rest. 

"  Who  does  not  love  to  see  the  grandam  mild 
Lesson  with  yearning  looks  the  listening  child? 

But  'tis  a  thing  of  saintlier  nature, 

Amidst  her  friends  of  pigmy  stature, 

To  see  the  maid  in  youth's  fair  bloom 

A  guardian  sister's  charge  assume, 

And,  like  a  touch  of  angel's  bliss, 

Receive  from  each  its  grateful  kiss,—- 
To  see  them,  when  their  hour  of  love  is  past, 

Aside  the  grave  demeanour  cast; 

With  her  in  mimic  war  they  wrestle ; 

Beneath  her  twisted  robe  they  nestle ; 

Upon   her  glowing  cheek  they  revel, 

Low  bended  to  their  tiny  level ; 

While  oft,  her  lovely  neck  bestriding, 

Crows  some  arch  imp,  like  huntsman  riding. 
This  is  a  sight  the  coldest  heart  may  feel;  — 
To  make  down  rugged  cheeks  the  kindly  tear  to  steaL 

"But  when  the  toilsome  sun  was  set, 
And  evening  groups  together  met, 
Her  feet  still  in  the  dance  moved  lightest, 
Her  eye  with  merry  glance  beamed  brightest, 
Her  braided  locks  were  coiled  the  neatest, 
Her  carol  song  was  thrilled  the  sweetest; 
And  round  the  fire,  in  winter  cold, 
No  archer  tale  than  hers  was  told. 
And  do  not,  gentle  reader,  chide, 
If  I  record  her  harmless  pride, 
Who  sacrificed  the  hours  of  sleep 
Some  show  of  better  times  to  keep ; 
That,  though  as  humble  soldiers  dight, 
With  pointed  cuft'  and  collar  white, 
A  stripling  brother  might  more  trimly  stana 
Like  one  of  gentle  race  mixed  with  a  homelier  band. 

"And  thus  some  happy  years  stole  by; 

Adversity  with   virtue   mated, 
Her  state  of  low  obscurity 

Set  forth  but  as  deep  shadows,  fated 
By  Heaven's  high  will  to  make  the  light 
Of  future  skies  appear  more  bright. 


148 


"At  length, 

From  Britain's  isle  glad  tidings  came, 

And  her  kind  parent  and  herself  depart 

In  royal  Mary's  gentle  train. 
And  Britain's  virtuous  queen  admired 

Our  gentle  maid,  and  in  her  train 

Of  ladies  willed  her  to  remain; 
What  more  could  young  ambition  have  desireu* 

But,  like  the  blossom  to  the  bough, 

Or  wall-flower  to  the  ruin's  brow, 

Or  tendril  to  the  fostering  stock, 

Or  sea-weed  to  the  briny  rock, 

Or  mistletoe  to  sacred  tree, 

Or  daisy  to  the  swarded  lea, 

So  truly  to  her  own  she  clung; 

Nor  cared  for  honors  vain, 

From  courtly  favor  sprung." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  ECONOMY  OF  HOME. 

"  She  loves  a  rainy  day  who  sweeps  the  hearth, 
And  threads  the  busy  needle,  or  applies 
The  scissors  to  the  torn  or  threadbare  sleeve ; 
Who  blesses  God  that  she  has  friends  and  home." 

BRAIKARD. 

IN  our  country,  women,  even  of  the  highest  rank, 
must  "  study  household  good."  There  may  be  many 
servants,  and  they  may  be  under  the  vigilant  superintend- 
ence of  a  hired  housekeeper ;  but  the  order  and  ele- 
gance of  the  menage  will  depend  chiefly  upon  the  good 
judgment  and  correct  taste  of  the  lady  of  the  mansion. 
If  she  be  deficient,  it  will  be  visible  in  spite  of  the  splen- 
did decorations  of  her  drawing-rooms,  and  the  costly 
luxury  of  her  table. 

If  the  home-education  of  a  young  lady  be  not  such 
as  to  fit  her  for  any  station,  however  high  or  however 
humble,  it  is  incomplete.  A  discriminating  mind, — 
quickness  of  observation,  —  strong  judgment,  —  correct 
taste  and  principles, — these  will  enable  her  to  accom- 
modate herself  gracefully  and  cheerfully  to  the  condition 
in  life  assigned  by  Providence.  To  fulfil  its  duties,  she 
must  have  a  practical  knowledge  of  the  whole  economy 
of  housewifery. 

Lady  reader,  it  may  be,  that,  in  a  missionary  cottage 
on  an  island  of  the  Pacific,  you  may  set  the  example 
of  a  well-ordered  house,  and  a  neat  frugal  table,  to 
13*  (149) 


150 


savages,  who  are  thus  to  be  instructed  in  the  home 
comforts  of  civilized  life ;  or,  in  a  refined  and  polished 
land,  you  may  do  the  honors  of  a  diplomatic  mansion,  so 
that  American  manners  and  American  hospitality  be  not 
contemned ;  or  you  may  be  compelled,  upon  the  lim- 
ited means  that  most  young  men  have  to  offer,  to  main- 
tain the  dignity,  neatness,  and  elegance  of  an  establish- 
ment far  inferior  to  the  accustomed  splendor  of  your 
father's  house  ;  or,  upon  the  meagre  stipend  of  a  country 
clergyman  "to  entertain  strangers,"  and  "be  given  to 
hospitality."  • 

Keeping  accounts,  the  order  and  regulation  of  family 
expenses,  the  table,  servants,  furniture,  visiters,  &c., 
&c., — these  must  be  learned  under  the  paternal  roof. 

The  expenses  of  a  family  must  of  course  be  regu- 
lated, in  part,  by  the  wealth  and  station  of  its  head. 
That  there  may  be  unity  of  purpose,  the  husband  and 
father  should  make  his  family  sufficiently  acquainted 
with  his  resources,  and  the  style  in  which  he  wishes 
to  live. 

In  order  to  acquire  a  habit  of  systematic  expenditure, 
every  young  lady  should,  if  possible,  receive  a  stated 
allowance  for  her  personal  expenses ;  be  this  large  or 
small,  a  part  of  it — how  large  a  part  depends  upon  the 
charity  and  self-denial  of  the  donor — should  be  devoted 
to  benevolent  purposes.  This  gives  a  freedom  and  a 
pleasure  to  acts  of  charity  which  cannot  be  enjoyed 
where  the  demands  are  made  upon  a  parent,  and  the 
bounty  thus  only  passes  through  the  hands  of  the  merely 
nominal  donor. 

However  large  your  allowance  may  be,  unless  you  are 
systematic  in  its  expenditure,  trouble  and  perplexity 
will  harass  you.  If  at  the  beginning  of  the  year  you 


THE    ECONOMY    OF    HOME.  15J 

are  needlessly  extravagant,  its  close  will  find  you  with- 
out the  means  of  purchasing  even  a  pair  of  gloves. 
With  splendid  shawls  and  rich  dresses,  which  have  ex- 
hausted your  funds,  soiled  gloves  and  untidy  shoes  are 
not  in  keeping ;  they  give  you  the  air  which  has  well 
been  called  "  the  shabby  genteel."  White  kid  gloves  and 
satin  shoes  with  a  calico  dress,  for  a  morning  walk,  give 
the  same  appearance.  These  incongruities  will  fre- 
quently occur,  if  you  do  not  make  a  careful  "  calcula- 
tion" for  all  the  articles  indispensable  to  your  wardrobe. 
Beside  this  care  of  her  own  accounts  and  expendi- 
tures, a  daughter  should  sometimes  be  allowed  to  keep 
"  The  House  Book,"  as  it  is  called.  By  so  doing,  she 
will  learn  the  price  of  servants'  wages,  of  all  the  articles 
for  family  use,  and  for  the  table.  Of  these  things  most 
young  married  women  are  so  ignorant,  that  they  might 
be  cheated  to  almost  any  extent  by  trades-people  and 
servants.  What,  for  instance,  do  they  know  of  the 
prices  of  coal,  wood,  soap,  potatoes,  &c.,  &c.  My 
young  lady  reader  will  smile,  perhaps  contemptuously, 
at  the  idea  that  any  such  knowledge  could  come  within 
her  province.  The  head  of  a  family  is  not  always  at 
home ;  and  when  there,  the  all-absorbing  duties  of  a 
profession  may  render  such  cares  burdensome,  and  an 
obliging  wife  will  endeavour  to  relieve  him.  If  the  mis- 
tress of  a  family  trust  entirely  to  servants  to  make  pur- 
chases, while  herself  ignorant  of  prices,  she  places  before 
them  too  great  a  temptation  to  dishonesty.  If  the  gro- 
cer's book  is  sent  month  after  month,  where  an  account 
is  kept  open,  without  examination,  —  if  butchers'  and 
fishmongers'  bills  are  suffered  to  run  on  from  quarter  to 
quarter  without  being  paid  (seeming  at  last  enormous, 
and  discharged  reluctantly),  —  if  servants'  wages  are 


152  THE    YOUNG    LADYJS    HOME. 

called  for  just  when  they  please,  sometimes  receiving 
more  than  is  due,  and  at  others  falling  short  of  it, — 
now  are  family  expenses  to  be  regulated  ?  Often,  in 
this  manner,  every  thing  is  left  to  take  care  of  itself,  and 
by  the  wastefulness  and  extravagance  resulting  from  such 
a  course,  thousands  have  been  ruined.  It  was  Napole- 
on's custom,  even  when  emperor  of  France,  to  inquire 
the  price  of  every  article  used  for  his  household,  and  to 
make  accurate  calculations  with  regard  to  the  necessary 
quantity  to  be  consumed.  It  may  be  said  that  this  was 
royal  meanness;  nevertheless,  it  prevented  fraud  and  dis- 
honesty. Many  think  it  a  mark  of  gentility,  as  well  as  of 
generosity,  to  be  regardless  of  economy.  They  think 
that  spending  money  with  reckless  freedom  proves  that 
they  have  always  been  accustomed  to  wealth.  It  is 
proverbial,  that  the  sons  of  misers  are  spendthrifts,  and 
men  who  have  acquired  wealth  suddenly  generally  spend 
it  rapidly ;  while  they  who  have  lived  year  after  year  in 
the  same  respectable  style,  usually  impart  to  their  chil- 
dren their  own  habits  of  regular  systematic  economy. 
It  is  said  with  much  truth,  that  the  Americans  are  not  an 
economical  people.  Money-making  and  rnoney-loving 
even  to  a  universal  monomania,  that  which  is  acquired 
with  such  mighty  effort  they  spend  with  lavish  profu- 
sion. We  know  nothing  about  economy  as  practised  in 
Europe,  by  men  of  high-sounding  titles,  that  would  de- 
light ears  democratic.  The  Frenchman's  invariable 
practice  of  taking  up  his  two  or  three  remaining  bits  of 
sugar,  wrapping  them  in  paper  and  carrying  them  from 
the  cafe,  in  his  pocket,  is  only  one  example  of  the  mi- 
nuteness of  their  economy.  The  French  women  are 
wonderfully  «  good  managers ;"  the  care  they  take  of 
their  furniture  and  wardrobes  can  scarcely  be  imagined, 


THE    ECONOMY    OF    HOME.  153 

even  by  a  notable  Yankee  woman.  An  excessive  love 
of  display,  and  the  tormenting  desire  to  rival  European 
luxury  and  elegance,  have  brought  already  so  much 
misery  upon  our  country,  that  it  is  high  time  that  Ame- 
rican women  should  inquire  how  far  the  blame  comes 
deservedly  upon  them  ;  and  what  measures  they  must 
pursue  to  avoid  such  ruinous  extravagance. 

Having  learnt  the  prices  of  articles  of  home  consump- 
tion, and  the  quantity  necessary  for  an  ample  supply, 
you  may  be  able  to  regulate  your  expenses.  You  will 
know  how  your  table  should  be  furnished  on  ordinary 
and  extraordinary  occasions,  avoiding  the  extremes  of 
niggardly  frugality  and  wasteful  superfluity.  You  will 
find  that  a  skilful  manager  purchases  most  articles  by 
large  quantities,  as  they  are  thus  reduced  in  price ;  be- 
sides, it  is  a  saving  of  time. 

The  better  to  understand  what  to  order  for  the  table, 
acquire  some  insight  to  the  mysteries  of  the  culinary 
department.  If  your  delicate  fingers  have  hitherto  only 
been  familiar  with  the  piano  and  harp,  embroidery  and 
letter-paper,  can  you  bring  them  into  contact  with  vulgar 
.butter  and  sugar,  eggs  and  flour?  Horrible!  Yet  you 
may  go  to  the  Far  West  and  be  without  "  helps,"  as  the 
Trollopes,  &c.,  aver  that  we  call  servants  ;  or,  in  town, 
they  may  leave  without  "  giving  warning."  And  it  should 
ever  be  remembered,  that  the  varying  tide  of  fortune 
may  leave  many  who  now  ride  triumphantly  at  the  top 
of  the  wave  upon  a  barren  strand. 

The  American  ladies  of  lang-syne  were  exceedingly 
notable ;  their  pride  in  pastry,  puddings,  pickles,  pre- 
serves, and  the  rest  of  the  category,  was  certainly  more 
palatable  than  the  boasted  ignorance  of  their  degenerate 
daughters.  Sensible  men  will  assure  you,  that  it  is  no 


154  THE    YOUNG    LADY'S    HOME. 

proof  of  talents,  good-sense,  or  good  taste,  to  despise 
the  manipulations  of  the  pantry  and  kitchen.  A  good 
housekeeper  need  not  be  a  mere  domestic  drudge  ;  if 
compelled  to  devote  some  hours  every  day  to  active 
employment,  it  would  doubtless  be  an  antidote  to  dys- 
pepsia and  ennui,  and  need  not  lessen  her  refinement  of 
rnind  and  manners.  A  good  "  Cook's  Oracle"  should 
belong  to  every  educated  woman's  library,  —  not  dis- 
playing its  homely  face  among  the  elegant  titled  nobility 
of  the  drawing-room,  or  respectable  gentry  of  the  parlour 
library,  —  but  upon  the  kitchen  book-shelf,  by  the  side 
of  the  Bible,  Cheap  Repository,  Almanac,  &c.  Many 
such  receipt-bocks  have  been  compiled  for  housekeepers, 
but  they  must  be  tested  by  actual  experiment  before 
they  can  be  relied  upon.  A  young  lady  should  be  al- 
lowed to  make  these  experiments  under  her  mother's 
supervision.  If  a  daughter  can  relieve  her  mother  by 
sometimes  taking  her  place,  it  will  be  a  mutual  ad- 
vantage. 

Kindness  to  servants, — genuine,  judicious  kindness — 
is  not  the  most  common  thing  in  the  world.  In  your 
father's  house,  be  careful  not  to  tax  them  too  heavily ; 
be  considerate  for  their  welfare,  and  endeavor  to  gain 
their  respect  and  good-will. 

You  can  scarcely  conceive  of  the  labor  you  may  save 
them  by  neatness  and  carefulness,  —  by  putting  your 
books,  working  materials,  and  wearing-apparel  in  their 
proper  places,  when  you  have  done  using  them, —  by 
early  rising  and  early  retiring.  Never  ring  for  a  servant 
unless  it  be  absolutely  necessary ;  consider  whether  you 
have  a  right  to  make  even  your  own  waiting-maid  take 
forty  steps  to  save  yourself  one.  Nothing  shows  a  per 
son's  ill-breeding  more  plainly  than  a  harsh,  imperious 


THE    ECONOMY    OF    HOME.  155 

manner  towards  servants.  Knowing  how  much  more 
agreeable  it  is  to  be  requested  than  commanded,  it 
would  seem  as  if  every  one  might  say,  "  Will  you  do 
this?"  or  even,  "  Please  do  that;"  and  there  would 
be  no  want  of  propriety  in  saying,  "  Will  you  have 
the  kindness  to  do  it?"  Human  nature  resents  the  im- 
perative mood,  but  yields  a  ready  acquiescence  to  gentle 
entreaty.  You  must  not  suppose  that  all  servants  are  of 
course  merely  mercenary ;  they  may  serve  with  affec- 
tion, and  possess  a  keen  sensibility  to  kindness.  An 
amiable  dignity  of  deportment,  joined  with  considerate- 
ness,  and  a  hearty  desire  for  their  good,  may  secure 
faithful,  humble  allies,  whose  interests  are  identified  with 
your  own.  This  happy  union  is  sometimes  secured 
even  in  this  country,  where  a  love  of  change  is  the  uni- 
versal passion.  The  yoke  of  servitude  is  very  galling 
to  a  free-born  Yankee ;  is  it  not  often  rendered  doubly 
so,  by  the  meanness  and  vulgarity  of  the  master  and  mis- 
tress ?  Avoiding  that  familiarity  which  the  old  proverb 
says  "breeds  contempt,"  consider  what  is  really  due  to 
the  feelings  and  character  of  a  faithful  domestic,  and 
demonstrate  by  your  conduct,  that  you  have  no  contempt 
for  those  whom  Providence  has  placed  in  a  subordinate 
station,  and  that  you  recognise  no  vulgarity  but  such  as 
arises  from  a  low  and  vicious  character.  By  uniform 
sweetness  of  temper,  a  grateful  acknowledgment  of  faith- 
ful services,  and  a  conscientious  regard  for  their  tem- 
poral and  eternal  welfare,  you  may  promote  their  happi- 
ness, and  lighten  the  evils  of  their  condition. 

The  freedom  of  our  country,  its  liberal  institutions, 
and  much  more  its  moral  condition,  place  unmarried 
women  in  a  less  restricted  and  more  influential  situation 
than  they  enjoy  in  any  other  enlightened  nation.  They 


156  THE  YOUNG  LADY3S  HOME. 

are  of  more  importance  at  home,  and  take  a  more  ac- 
tiye  part  in  receiving  visiters,  than  is  customary  in  Eu- 
rope. Yet,  while  under  the  paternal  roof,  there  is  no 
propriety  in  their  receiving  company  without  the  counte- 
nance of  their  parents.  All  invitations  should  be  given 
out  in  the  name  of  the  mistress  of  the  family,  and  the 
delicacy  and  modesty  of  a  young  lady  will  prevent  her 
from  monopolizing  the  attention  of  her  mother's  guests, 
old  or  young.  There  is,  however,  an  opposite  extreme, 
where  young  ladies  pay  no  civilities  to  their  parents' 
visiters,  but  either  whisper  and  giggle  by  themselves  in  a 
corner,  or  sit  in  a  formidable  row,  like  dumb,  uninterest- 
ed spectators.  At  a  dinner-table,  at  home  or  abroad, 
you  are  expected  to  be  an  attentive  listener,  or  at  most 
an  intelligent  questioner ;  by  no  means  to  take  the 
lead  in  conversation.  At  home,  you  may  endeavor  to 
draw  out  the  modest  and  diffident,  and  to  relieve  them 
from  awkward  silence  ;  but  can  you  in  a  party  talk  to 
half  a  dozen  beaux  at  once,  and  find  them  all  some  em- 
ployment ?  Do  you  feel  dissatisfied  unless  you  create  a 
sensation  and  attract  much  notice?  Do  not  think  the 
men  whose  admiration  you  claim  cannot  perceive  your 
motives.  When  displaying  your  accomplishments,  be- 
ware of  seeming  to  say,  Mmirez  moi,  admirez  moi. 

It  is  almost  insulting  to  a  guest  to  invite  him  just  to 
make  a  display  of  an  elegant,  richly  furnished  house,  or 
in  any  other  way  to  extort  from  him  the  tax  of  admira- 
tion and  flattery.  The  frank  cordiality  of  old-fashioned 
hospitality  is  a  thousand  times  more  acceptable. 

The  substantial  comfort  of  a  house  depends  mostly 
upon  its  mistress;  but  its  graceful  elegance  is  frequently 
imparted  by  the  younger  members.  The  arrangement 
of  furniture,  books,  pictures,  prints,  and  the  care  of 


THE    ECONOMY    OF    HOME.  157 

them,  may  devolve  upon  young  ladies.  Even  the  ar- 
rangement of  a  vase  of  flowers,  and  the  placing  of  it, 
may  tell  favorably  of  the  taste  of  the  presiding  genius  of 
the  drawing-room. 

Although  domestic  economy  must  necessarily  occupy 
much  of  a  woman's  time  and  thoughts,  it  should  be  made 
as  seldom  as  possible  the  subject  of  conversation.  The 
affairs  of  the  kitchen  should  never  be  discussed  in  the 
parlor,  or  at  table.  The  regularity,  order,  and  smooth- 
ness with  which  the  machinery  operates  should  be  per- 
ceived only  as  it  is  upon  the  face  of  a  watch,  by  the 
effects  produced.  A  man  of  studious  habits,  who  is 
much  at  home,  should  never  be  annoyed  with  the  bustle 
of  notable  housewifery,  the  complaints  that  might  hourly 
be  made  of  the  carelessness  of  servants,  and  the  horrors 
of  dust  and  cobwebs.  The  merits  or  demerits  of  ser- 
vants are  sometimes  made  the  subject  of  conversation  in 
society ;  but  young  ladies,  it  is  hoped,  have  too  much 
taste  and  refinement  to  choose  such  a  topic. 

There  is  little  danger,  under  the  present  system  of  in- 
tellectual culture,  that  a  young  lady  will  become  too  am- 
bitious to  excel  in  housewifery ;  the  danger  is,  that, 
despising  the  homely  but  useful  knowledge,  you  will  in 
time  bring  discomfort  and  discredit  to  that  home  where 
confiding  love  has  placed  you. 

«  Charlotte,"  said  a  lately  married  man  to  his  young 

wife,  "  my  classmates,  F and  N ,  are  in  town, 

and  I  have  invited  them  to  dine  with  us  to-day.  I  have 
been  to  market  this  morning,  and  will  give  you  the  bill 
of  fare;  —  a  calf's  head  for  my  favorite  soup,  beef, 
pigeons,  oysters,  and  a  fine  striped  bass.  You  must  or- 
der the  cook  to  do  every  thing  according  to  your  own 
liking,  and  prepare  such  a  dessert  as  suits  your  own 
14 


158  THE  YOUNG  LADY's  HOME. 

taste.  Our  guests  are  both  bachelors,  and  N has  a 

foolish  notion  that  girls  now-a-days  know  nothing  that 
they  ought  to  know.  I  wish  you,  my  dear,  to  show 
him  that  one,  at  least,  does  honor  to  her  husband's 
choice." 

The  happy  husband,  with  a  look  of  trustful  affection, 
bade  his  wife  good  morning,  saying  that  he  should  not 
see  her  again  until  he  had  the  pleasure  of  introducing  his 
old  friends,  at  dinner-time. 

Charlotte  was  in  trepidation.  Her  cook,  a  stout, 
wholesome-looking  country-girl,  was  unskilled  beyond 
the  most  simple  cookery ;  the  mistress  did  not  like  to 
lose  respect  by  betraying  ignorance.  The  blushing  hon- 
ors of  a  housekeeper  were  still  in  their  first  week's 
freshness.  "  What  shall  I  do  ?  what  shall  I  do  ?"  she 
mentally  exclaimed.  After  musing  a  while,  the  thought 
struck  her,  —  "I'll  go  ask  mamma."  On  went  bonnet 
and  shawl,  and  off*  went  Charlotte  to  confess  her  em- 
barrassment and  ask  advice.  "  It 's  all  easy  enough," 
said  mamma;  "you  have  my  excellent  receipt  for  calf's 
head  turtle-soup.  Then  you  must  have  the  bass  boiled, 
the  beef  roasted,  the  oysters  fried  in  batter,  and  the 
pigeons  stuffed,  stewed,  and  browned."  Home  went 
Charlotte,  saying  over  her  lesson  of  boiled,  stewed, 
and  roasted,  all  the  way.  She  summoned  the  cook. 
"  Sally,  we  have  company  to  dine  to-day ;  —  I  wish 
to  give  you  some  directions  about  the  dinner.  Here 
is  my  excellent  receipt  for  calf's-head  turtle-soup." 
"  0,  goodness  me  !"  exclaimed  Sally,  "  I  never  heard 
of  turning  a  calf's  head  into  a  turtle  before."  "It  is  a 
fine  soup,  Sally ;  be  patient,  and  I  will  show  you  how," 
continued  Charlotte,  with  becoming  dignity,  although 
somewhat  disconcerted.  "Listen  now;  the  beef, — 


THE    ECONOMY    OF    HOME.  159 

yes,  the  beef  must  be  boiled,  the  bass  roasted,  the  oys- 
ters stewed  and  browned,  and  the  pigeons  fried  in  bat- 
ter." "The  pigeons  fried  in  batter!  Lor  me  !  what 
queer  ways  they  do  have  in  this  town !"  exclaimed  the 
unsophisticated  cook.  "  Different  places  have  different 
modes,  my  good  girl ;  I  dare  say  you  will  do  very  well. 
We  dine  an  hour  later  than  usual  to-day,  and  you  will 
have  plenty  of  time." 

Sally  was  a  shrewd  Yankee  girl,  and  suspecting  that 
her  mistress  did  not  know  quite  as  much  as  she  pretend- 
ed, determined  to  follow  the  directions  she  had  given, 
come  what  might.  Charlotte,  putting  on  her  neat  brown- 
linen  apron,  went  to  work  with  right  good-will.  Re- 
ceipt-book in  hand,  she  got  together  the  variety  of  ingre- 
dients and  condiments  for  the  mock-turtle  soup,  and  read 
the  directions  for  the  suitable  preparation  of  them  to  the 
attentive  Sally,  who  then  applied  herself  with  all  her 
might  to  boiling,  roasting,  stewing,  and  frying,  according 
to  her  mistress's  orders. 

Having  thus  discharged  her  arduous  task,  perfectly  to 
her  own  satisfaction,  Charlotte  made  choice  of  fruits  and 
sweetmeats  for  dessert,  and,  to  relieve  the  cook,  she 
undertook  to  make  custards  and  a  whip-syllabub  herself. 
Before  they  were  finished,  the  clock  struck  three !  It 
was  but  an  hour  to  dinner ;  four  o'clock  was  a  late  din- 
ner-hour in  the  good  town  of .  When  she  had 

seen  that  the  table  was  spread,  and  given  orders  to  the 
waiter  for  the  arrangement  of  her  beautiful  dessert,  which 
she  looked  at  again  and  again  with  satisfied  pride,  she 
had  only  fifteen  minutes  for  her  toilet,  —  a  task  which 
usually  occupied  nearly  an  hour.  The  company  arrived 
before  it  was  completed,  and  the  husband  looked  disap- 
pointed at  not  finding  his  wife  in  the  drawing-room. 


160 

Still  more  disappointed  and  chagrined  was  ne  when  she 
did  appear,  heated  by  the  unusual  occupation  of  the 
morning,  flurried  by  her  hasty  toilet,  and  anxious  for 
the  success  of  her  dinner;  her  face  looked  red,  shiny, 
and  absolutely  swollen,  and  her  manners  were  as  des- 
titute of  their  usually  graceful  politeness  as  possible. 

F and  N looked  surprised,  for  they  had  heard 

much  of  the  beauty  and  accomplishments  of  their  friend's 
wife.  Conversation  flagged,  and  yet  the  waiter  came 
not  to  announce  the  wished-for  relief;  minutes  seemed 
hours  to  Charlotte ;  her  husband  fidgeted  and  looked 

anxiously  at  N ,  who,  in  spite  of  his  customary 

good-breeding,  had  a  positively  saucy  look,  that  seemed 
to  say, —  "  So  much  for  the  housewifery  of  these  very 
accomplished  women."  At  length,  however,  the  waiter 
announced  that  dinner  was  ready ;  the  doors  were  thrown 
open,  and  the  smoking  viands  were  welcomed  by  all ; 
for  long  waiting  had  given  them  keen  appetites. 

The  soup  was  dark  as  midnight,  having  derived  its 
superlative  blackness  from  burned  instead  of  browned 
flour,  and  an  extra  quantity  of  port-wine.  However,  it 
passed  off  tolerably  well;  —  even  an  experienced  gour- 
mand would  have  pronounced  it  only  a  trifle  too  bitter, 
and  a  trifle  too  acid. 

The  soup  discussed  and  removed,  the  master  of  the 
house  cast  his  eye  over  the  table,  but  not  a  dish  could  he 
recognize.  "  This  is  some  abominable  French  cook- 
ery," thought  he,  "  where  every  thing  is  intentionally 
disguised  ;  however,  I  must  undertake  to  carve."  Be- 
fore him  stood  a  shapeless  mass  of  pinkish  and  yellowish 
stuff,  floating  in  a  puddle  of  grease,  which  threatened  to 
overflow  the  platter.  Fish-knife  in  hand,  he  gazed  at  it 
awhile  ;  —  what  could  it  be  ?  Why,  boiled  beef,  to  be 


THE    ECONOMY    OF   HOME.  16.1 

sure ;  the  large  sirloin  of  fat  beef  boiled  to  rags,  with- 
out a  particle  of  salt,  —  the  bones  all  nicely  removed. 
He  looked  for  the  excellent  striped  bass.  The  dark 
debris  of  something  of  the  fish  kind  certainly  lay  upon 
the  opposite  platter,  for  there  was  the  head  at  least, — 
the  bones  roasted  to  wonderful  brownness.  There  was 
still  hope  that  the  pigeons  might  be  eatable.  A  parcel 
of  strange-looking  dumplings  made  up  a  side-dish,  but 
no  birds  were  discoverable ;  neither  could  he  form  a 
conjecture  as  to  the  contents  of  the  opposite  dish, — 
little  dark,  shrivelled  things,  like  nothing  of  the  fish  or 
flesh  kind.  Not  a  vegetable  appeared,  for  Charlotte  had 
forgotten  to  order  them,  and  Sally  obeyed  orders. 

Relieved  from  embarrassment  by  the  success  of  her 
soup,  Charlotte  had  recovered  her  usual  ease,  and  was 
talking  quite  agreeably  with  N ,  when  she  was  star- 
tled by  an  unwonted  exclamation  of  anger  from  her 
husband. 

"  What  the ha¥e  we  got  here?  Madam,  please 

to  have  your  cook  called,  to  tell  us  what  villanous  stuff 
she  has  placed  before  us;  for  the  life  of  me,  I  can't 
discover." 

Poor  Charlotte,  utterly  confounded,  bade  the  waiter 
call  Sally.  The  girl  appeared,  her  arms  akimbo,  and 
an  expression  of  irrepressible  drollery  lurking  about  her 
mouth.  "Woman!"  exclaimed  the  enraged  husband, 
"  what  messes  have  you  given  us  in  place  of  what  I 
sent  home  for  dinner?"  "Why!  there's  just  what 
you  sent  home,  cooked  exactly  as  Mrs.  ordered  it  to 
be  done.  My  rule  is,  <  Obey  orders  and  break  owners.' 
I  said  it  over  and  over,  till  I  got  it  by  heart,"  —  point- 
ing to  each  dish,  —  "boiled  beef,  roasted  fish,  pigeons 
fried  in  batter,  and  oysters  stewed  and  browned.  I 
14* 


162 

hope  they  are  done  to  your  liking,  inarm,"  curtseying 
low. 

It  was  impossible  longer  to  refrain  from  laughter. 
The  irritated  husband  burst  forth  into  a  peal,  in  which 
he  was  joined  by  his  guests,  and  even  the  waiter  and 
cook  tittered,  while  Charlotte,  no  longer  able  to  endure 
the  mortifying  scene,  burst  into  tears,  and  retreated  to  her 
own  chamber.  Sally,  as  soon  as  she  could  be  heard, 
said, —  "Just  let  me  obsarve,  gentlemen,  you  can  have 
a  disart  for  dinner,  for  the  lady  got  all  them  gimcracks 
ready  herself,  and  very  nice  you  '11  find  them."  Suiting 
the  action  to  the  words,  she  began  removing  the  mangled 
and  disgusting  messes,  and  soon  the  dessert  was  upon 
the  table.  The  friends  merrily  finished  their  dinner,  or 
rather  substituted  the  dessert,  which  really  did  credit  to 
Charlotte,  who,  nevertheless,  could  not  be  prevailed 
upon  again  to  make  her  appearance. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

DRESS. 

"My  yellow  silk  petticoat  looped  up  with  laurel, 

So  elegant,  —  yellow  and  green! 
My  train  of  blue  satin!  (judiciously  chosen, 

'T  will  make  a  pelisse  in  the  spring,) 
And  then  my  red  feathers !  I  'm  sure,  Lady  Susan, 
I  must  be  remarked  by  the  king." 

T.  H.  BAILET. 

THE  satirists  of  every  age  have  considered  woman's 
vanity  and  love  of  dress  legitimate  subjects  for  their 
keenest  strokes.  The  enormous  hoops,  crape  cushioned 
head-dresses,  furbelows,  powder,  and  patches  of  the 
days  of  Addison  and  Goldsmith  only  gave  place  to 
other  fantastic  modes,  which  have  in  turn  called  forth 
the  ridicule  of  lesser  wits  down  to  the  present  day. 
Whether  all  their  poignant  witticisms  ever  lessened  the 
number  of  patches,  made  "  top-knots  come  down,"  or 
reduced  the  size  of  a  sleeve,  is  somewhat  doubtful. 
Fashion  is  a  goddess  who  will  not  be  laughed  out  of 
countenance.  Her  frown  is  terrific ;  her  votaries  pro- 
claim from  her  high  places,  —  "It  is  better  to  be  out  of 
the  world  than  out  of  the  fashion." 

As  a  first  rule,  then,  (though  last  in  importance),  let 
your  dress  be  in  the  fashion,  —  provided,  always,  that  it 
does  not  infringe  upon  any  of  the  following  rules ; 
namely, — 

2.  Let  dress  be  adapted  to  the  season  of  the  year. 
Many  a  bright  and  beautiful  girl  has  gone  down  to  an 

(163) 


164 

early  grave  in  consequence  of  neglecting  to  guard  against 
the  inclemencies  of  this  changing  climate.  You  have 
hitherto  been  watched  by  the  vigilant  eye  of  maternal 
affection ;  now  your  life  is,  in  a  measure,  in  your  own 
keeping ;  yes,  your  very  life,  for  one  single  night's  im- 
prudence in  laying  aside  a  warm  garment  might  prove 
fatal.  Do  not  object  to  any  precautions  for  the  preser- 
vation of  health,  because  they  have  a  clumsy  appearance. 
Flannels  are  indispensable  a  greater  part  of  the  year. 
India-rubber,  fur,  and  thick-soled  shoes  should  be  worn 
much  oftener  than  they  are.  How  absurd  to  risk  health, 
and  life  itself,  for  the  sake  of  having  a  foot  look  an  eighth 
of  an  inch  smaller!  How  preposterous  to  be  exposed 
to  an  atmosphere  near  zero,  wearing  thin  silk  stockings, 
and  expect  to  escape  uninjured !  Not  only  absurd  and 
preposterous,  but  absolutely  wicked.  We  have  no  right 
thus  to  tamper  with  life. 

3.  The  dress  should  not  fit  so  tightly  as  to  impede 
motion   or   respiration.      It   is   believed   that   the  evils 
of  'tight-lacing  have  been  so  faithfully  delineated  during 
the  past  ten  years,  that  none  can  be   ignorant  of  them. 
Thus   forewarned,  if  you   continue  a.  practice   so    de- 
structive to  health,  life,  and   even  to  true  beauty,  —  a 
lingering  suicide,  —  surely,  a  fearful   account    must  be 
rendered  to  Him  whose  laws  are  thus  daringly  violated. 

4.  Dress  should  be  neat.     Some  one  says  that  neat- 
ness is  next  to  the  cardinal  virtues.     It  seems,  indeed, 
allied  to   purity  of  thought,  and   delicacy  of  sentiment, 
giving  a  charm  to  the  plainest  attire,  and  rendering  the 
richest  more  elegant. 

5.  Dress  should    be   simple.      The   most   expensive 
apparel  should  possess  this  grace ;  in  this,  as  in  every 
art,  elegant  simplicity  is  the  highest  beauty. 


DRESS.  165 

6.  Dress  should  be  modest. 

7.  Dress  should  be  appropriate.     There  is  a  natural 
fondness  in  the  young  for  gay  colors.     And  why  should 
they  not    admire  what   has    been    made   so    beautiful? 
Earth  wears  her  robe  of  pleasant  green,  —  the  sky  melts 
into  its  lovely  blue,  or  glows  with  crimson,  purple,  and 
gold,  —  the  flowers   blush  with  delicate   hues,  or   are 
sprinkled  with  gorgeous  dyes,  —  the  gems  of  ocean  shine 
with  dazzling  lustre,  and  our  Maker   has   deeply  im- 
planted a  love  of  the  beautiful  in  every  human  heart. 
The  utilitarian  may  deny  this,  but,  with  all  the  splendors 
of  creation  around  us,  we  have  but  to  open  our  eyes,  and 
his  arguments  are  forgotten.    Youth,  buoyant  with  hope, 
and  radiant  with  gladness,  —  why  should  it  be  shroud- 
ed in  sombre  hues?     Hate  we  not  here  the  teachings 
of  nature  ?     Should  not  life's  spring-time  and  summer 
be  clad  like  their  prototypes,  and  old  age  wear  the  sober 
livery  of  winter  ?     Goldsmith  compares  the  style  of  dress 
appropriate  to  different  periods  of  life  to  the  three  or- 
ders of  Grecian  architecture.     The  elaborate  and  beau- 
tiful Corinthian,  for  youth ;  the  graceful,  but  less  orna- 
mented Ionic,  for  middle  life;  and  the  chaste,  simple 
Doric,  for  venerable  age. 

Children  love  the  gayest  colors ;  but,  as  the  mind  ex- 
pands, and  the  taste  refines,  more  delicate  hues  are  pre- 
ferred. Colors,  in  dress,  that  do  not  harmonize  or  con- 
trast agreeably,  pain  the  eye,  as  discords  in  music  do 
the  ear.  Light  blue  and  pink,  purple  and  blue,  green 
and'  blue,  yellow  and  pink,  worn  as  contrasts,  are  un- 
pleasant to  almost  every  eye  ;  while  purple  and  yellow 
or  orange,  blue  and  brown,  salmon  and  blue,  green  and 
pink,  lilac  and  green,  are  pleasing  contrasts.  This  is 
not  a  factitious  taste,  but  is,  as  the  painty  well  knows, 


166 

derived  from  observation  of  the  harmonies  of  nature. 
Fashion  may  reconcile  us  for  a  time  to  almost  any  ab- 
surdity ;  but  good  taste,  being  founded  in  natural  sensi- 
bility to  beauty,  will  not  yield  entirely  to  her  caprices. 

It  is  much  to  be  desired,  that  the  young  ladies 
of  our  country  would  dress  with  more  plainness  and 
simplicity  in  the  street  and  at  church.  A  Frenchman 
who  had  just  arrived  in  one  of  our  larger  cities,  the 
first  morning  after  his  landing  walked  through  the  favor- 
ite street  for  promenading;  on  returning  to  his  hotel, 
ne  inquired  of  a  lady, — "  Madam,  where  is  the  ball  this 
morning?"  "The  ball!  what  ball?"  "  I  don't  know 
what  ball,  but  you  Americans  have  one  very  strange 
custom  ;  the  ladies  all  go  to  the  ball  before  dinner ; 
some  ride,  more  walk,  all  dressed  for  the  ball ;  ha !  ha ! 
ha!  republican  vulgarity." 

In  no  other  civilized  country  do  reputable  women  walk 
or  ride  out  in  full  dress.  In  Europe,  ladies  do  not  go  to 
church  to  display  their  finery;  they  have  other  public 
places  where  their  vanity  may  be  gratified.  Almost  the 
only  arena  for  display  in  many  places  in  this  country,  un- 
fortunately, is  the  holy  sanctuary ;  the  place  for  humiliation 
and  self-abasement.  Gay  as  a  parterre  of  tulips  and  hya- 
cinths at  one  season,  and  waving  with  plumes,  like  a  regi- 
ment of  soldiers,  at  another.  Is  this  a  Christian  assembly, 
met  to  worship  God  ?  Not  that  such  an  assembly 
should  be  clothed  in  sackcloth,  or  any  other  peculiar 
and  homely  garb  ;  but  surely  a  simple  and  unostentatious 
style  of  dress  would  be  far  more  appropriate. 

On  a  journey,  a  plain  dress  is  most  becoming.  We 
form  an  opinion  of  strangers  from  their  appearance ;  it 
is  the  only  index.  When  a  young  lady  carries  her  light 
silks,  her  embroidery  and  jewelry,  upon  her  person,  in 


DRESS.  167 

stage-coach,  car,  and  steamboat,  through  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  land,  we  conclude  that  they  are  her  only 
letter  of  recommendation,  and  there  may  be  those  to 
whom  it  is  sufficient. 

7.  Dress  should  correspond  in  some  degree  with  the 
wealth  of  the  wearer.     There  should  be  moderation  and 
sobriety,  however,  arising  from  principle.     The  extrava- 
gance of  wives  and   daughters  has  doubtless  increased 
men's  desire  to  be  rich,  and  led  them  in  many  instances 
to  those  rash  endeavors  and  wild  speculations,  that  lately 
threatened  destruction  to  our  country.     Is  the  present 
comparative  calm  a  proof  that  they  have  become  more 
considerate,  more   economical  ?     Are   there   none  who 
still  encroach  upon  a  father's  fond  indulgence  to   gratify 
vanity?      If    you    follow    Shakspeare's    rule,    "Costly 
as  your  purse  can  buy,"  how  will  you  be  able  to  obey 
a  charge  coming  from  higher  authority,  —  "  to  do  good, 
to  be  rich  in  good  works,  ready  to  distribute,  willing  to 
communicate  ?" 

8.  Dress   should    not   occupy  too    much   time    and 
thought,  nor  be  made  the  subject  of  never-ending  discus- 
sion.    Well  chosen,  neatly  made,  and  carefully  put  on, 
it  has  already  been  a  cruel  monopolizer  of  time  ;  give  it 
no  farther  attention  than  is  necessary  to  preserve  it  from 
injury,  and  let  not  that  care  be  apparent.     A  splendid 
dress  may  be  worn  so  consciously  as  to  lose  all  graceful- 
ness and  elegance. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

CONVERSATION. 

"Talk  to  women,  talk  to  women  as  much  as  you  ran.  This  is  the 
best  school.  This  is  the  way  to  gain  fluency, — because  you  need  not 
care  what  you  say,  and  had  better  not  be  sensible. — D'JSRAKLT. 

IT  is  not  very  unfair  to  believe,  that  most  young  men 
have  adopted  this  motto  as  their  own  ;  at  least,  their 
conversation  in  ladies'  society  generally  indicates  that 
they  think  they  "had  better  not  be  sensible."  If 
young  ladies  are  flippant  and  silly,  may  it  not  arise  from 
a  similar  desire  to  please  ?  It  is  morally  certain,  that  the 
tone  of  conversation  will  not  be  much  improved,  until 
the  taste  of  your  superiors  is  more  correct. 

Every  lady  thinks  it  complimentary  to  have  sensible 
rational  conversation  addressed  to  her ;  it  proves  that 
her  mind  is  not  considered  vastly  inferior.  She  need 
not  say  much ;  a  good  listener  is  invaluable,  and  Bacon 
says,  —  "  The  honorablest  part  of  talk  is  to  give  the  oc- 
casion." Let  us  learn  farther  from  his  wisdom  : — "  She 
that  questioneth  much  shall  learn  much,  and  content 
much,  but  especially  if  she  apply  her  questions  to  the 
skill  of  the  persons  whom  she  asketh ;  for  she  shall  give 
them  occasion  to  please  themselves  in  speaking,  and  her- 
self shall  continually  gather  knowledge."  Shakspeare 
makes  Gratiano  say,  —  "Silence  is  only  commendable 
in  a  neat's  tongue  dried."  But  a  severer  satirist  on  the 
sex  says :  — 

(168) 


CONVERSATION.  169 

11 A  dearth  of  words  a  woman  need  not  fear 
But  'tis  a  task  indeed  to  learn  to  hear." 

The  solemn  fop,  the  flippant  coxcomb,  the  prosing 
pedant,  all  may  like  "  to  please  themselves"  by  prat- 
ing to  you,  each  in  his  peculiar  style ;  and  to  "  apply 
questions  to  the  skill"  of  this  category,  requires  more 
than  the  wisdom  of  a  Bacon  ;  and  to  listen  to  them,  "not 
poppy  nor  mandragora"  can  be  so  consummately  nar- 
cotic. 

Flattery,  censoriousness,  slander,  sarcasm,  egotism, 
tittle-tattle,  exaggeration,  —  dark  catalogue !  Yet  of  all 
these  conversational  vices,  ladies,  young  and  old,  have 
been  accused.  Flattery  sometimes  arises  from  too 
strong  a  desire  to  please,  without  any  baser  motive. 
Compliments  are  not  always  wrong ;  they  may  come 
from  an  affectionate  heart,  that  can  with  difficulty  con- 
ceal its  sentiments  and  emotions.  When  there  is  not 
the  slightest  deviation  from  truth,  and  when  nothing  is 
sought,  or  to  be  gained,  they  should  be  given  very  spar- 
ingly,—  not  entirely  proscribed. 

Flattery  implies  an  intention  to  deceive,  to  mislead 
with  regard  to  appearance  or  merit,  either  to  gain  favor, 
or  to  make  sport  of  another's  vain  credulity.  It  is  a 
base,  a  mean  and  craven  spirit,  that  offers  this  incense 
at  any  shrine.  Every  lady  should  have  too  much  self- 
respect  to  offer  or  to  receive  such  incense. 

Censoriousness  brings  so  much  unpopularity  to  those 
who  indulge  in  it,  that  few  are  willing  to  appear  so 
unamiable.  But  there  are  some  fine  ladies  who  com- 
plain, 

"Folks  are  so  awkward,  things  so  unpolite, 
They  're  elegantly  pained  from  morn  till  night." 

15 


170  THE  YOUNG  LADY^S  HOME. 

Every  thing  appears  to  them  as  distorted  as  their  own 
faces  in  a  cracked  mirror.  They  are  careful  to  suggest 
to  their  friends  every  defect  that  they  discover  in  dis- 
position and  character,  and  vastly  ingenious  and  quick- 
sighted  in  the  discovery.  The  bright  side  of  character 
has  no  charms  for  them.  Instead  of  depicting  their 
acquaintances,  as  Queen  Elizabeth  would  have  her 
face  painted,  without  shadow,  their  censoriousness  casts 
every  feature  into  the  deepest  shade. 

It  is  said  of  the  profound  Locke,  by  his  biographer, 
that  "he  was  at  first  pretty  much  disposed  to  give 
advice,  where  he  thought  it  was  wanted ;  but  experi- 
ence of  the  little  effect  it  had,  made  him  grow  more 
reserved." 

But  censure  of  the  present  is  far  less  malicious  than 
slander  of  the  absent.  False,  treacherous,  hateful 
slander,  whose  wounds  no  balm  can  cure !  In  times 
gone  by,  the  gentler  sex  were  accused  of  a  strong  pre- 
dilection for  that  "  sweetener  to  a  female  feast ;"  but 
in  days  of  better  education  and  less  tea-drinking,  let  us 
hope  that  they  are  not  so  culpable.  God's  holy  law 
has  protected  "  our  neighbor"  from  this  violation  of 
his  rights,  and  all  mankind  cry  out  against  him  who 
"filches  a  good  name."  Even  in  the  most  retired  mo- 
ment, with  your  tried  and  faithful  friend,  beware  of 
whispering  one  word  to  injure  the  reputation  of  a  fellow- 
being.  Condemn  vice,  by  word  and  deed,  and  have 
moral  courage  to  avoid  the  society  of  the  vicious,  what- 
ever be  their  rank  and  station.  You  are  partakers  in 
others'  sins,  if  you  do  not  thus  openly  show  detestation 
of  crime.  But  sully  not  the  reputation  of  the  virtuous 
by  the  venomous  breath  of  slander;  it  will  not  pass 


CONVERSATION.  171 

away,  like  your  breath  upon  the  mirror,  leaving  it  bright 
and  pure  ;  it  will  go  out  into  a  world  of  wickedness,  and 
rest  a  dark  cloud  upon  their  once  fair  fame. 

Vanity  leads  to  unprofitable  conversation.  Hour  after 
hour  is  oftentimes  wasted  upon  the  discussion  of  the 
color  of  a  ribbon,  or  the  shape  of  a  shoe.  The  dress 
of  the  fashionable  and  the  unfashionable  is  a  most  fertile 
topic  of  conversation,  giving  zest  to  the  vapid  hours 
*of  the  unintellectual.  Who  doubts  that  due  attention  to 
dress  must  be  rendered  ?  But  the  interminable  discus- 
sions to  which  it  leads,  to  the  exclusion  of  better  subjects, 
lowers  the  intellect,  and  tells  too  plainly  the  ignoble  aim 
of  female  vanity,  —  to  spread  every  sail  to  catch  the 
breeze  of  admiration. 

Sarcasm  is  a  dangerous  weapon,  often  recoiling  upon 
the  wielder  with  keen  and  biting  stroke.  A  dull  weapon 
will  wound,  if  directed  to  a  vulnerable  spot,  and  those 
who  have  little  sense  and  no  wit  can  be  spitefully  severe. 
Of  such,  Hannah  More  says,  —  "  They  exhibit  no 
small  satisfaction  in  ridiculing  women  of  high  intellectual 
endowments,  while  they  exclaim  with  affected  humility, 
and  much  real  envy,  that  <  they  are  thankful  they  are 
not  geniuses.'  Now,  though  one  is  glad  to  hear  grati- 
tude expressed  on  any  occasion,  yet  the  want  of  sense 
is  really  no  such  great  mercy  to  be  thankful  for ;  and 
it  would  indicate  a  better  spirit,  were  they  to  pray  to  be 
enabled  to  make  a  right  use  of  the  moderate  under- 
standing they  possess,  instead  of  exposing,  with  a  visible 
pleasure,  the  imaginary  or  real  defects  of  their  more 
shining  acquaintance." 

It  is  dangerous  to  be  severe  upon  the  faults  of  our 
friends,  even  in  jest.  Like  blows  given  by  boxers,  at 


172  THE  YOUNG  LADY'S  HOME. 

first  in  sport,  they  often  end  in  angry  earnest.  Lively 
repartee  may  sometimes  be  agreeable  ;  when  it  delicately 
avoids  personality,  it  may  give  brilliancy  to  conversation  ; 
but  this  can  seldom  be  avoided.  Defend  us  from  the 
quips  and  quirks  of  an  habitual  punster,  who  snaps  up 
your  honest  \vords,  and  turns  them  into  traitors  before 
your  eyes. 

"To  women,  wit  is  a  peculiarly  perilous  possession, 
which  nothing  short  of  the  sober-mindedness  of  Chris- 
tianity can  keep  in  order.  Intemperate  wit  craves  admi- 
ration as  its  natural  aliment ;  it  lives  on  flattery  as  its 
daily  bread.  The  professed  wit  is  a  hungry  beggar, 
that  subsists  on  the  extorted  alms  of  perpetual  panegy- 
ric." The  rational,  sensible  conversation  of  those  who 
prefer  being  agreeable  to  being  witty  is  vastly  repugnant 
to  such ;  if  others  writhe  under  their  inflictions,  they 
yawn  under  this. 

Woe  to  the  woman  who  gains  the  reputation  of  wit. 
She  is  expected  never  to  open  her  mouth  to  speak, 
without  dropping  pearls  and  diamonds ;  if  her  wit  be 
not  chastised  into  meek  subordination,  she  is  feared  by 
one  sex  and  hated  by  the  other.  Even  although  it  be 
thus  chastised,  there  are  many  who  look  upon  it  in  its 
harmless  playfulness  as  they  would  upon  the  gambols 
of  an  uncaged  tigress. 

But  of  all  faults  in  conversation,  egotism  is  the  most 
common,  only  because  pardoned  by  all  those  who  in- 
dulge in  it  themselves.  A  tete-a-tete  between  two  ego- 
tists is  a  laughable  strife  for  the  balance  of  power.  The 
eagerness  of  each  to  maintain  the  ground,  —  the  volu- 
bility of  the  one  who  gains  it  for  a  time,  —  the  anxiety 
of  the  other  to  seize  the  first  faltering  pause,  —  impa- 


CONVERSATION.  J 73 

tience  overcomes  at  length  all  politeness,  and  both  talk 
till  one  has  fairly  talked  the  other  down.  In  society, 
the  thoughts  of  these  egotists  cannot  by  any  means  be 
diverted  from  themselves.  It  appears  as  though  there 
were  not  a  spot  in  the  universe,  that  fond  self-love  did 
not  associate  in  some  degree  with  their  interests. 

"  When  I  was  with  Parry,"  says  the  traveller,  "  we 

encountered  some  of  those  tremendous  icebergs " 

"  That  reminds  me,"  interrupts  the  egotist,  "  of  what  I 
suffered  during  a  ride  last  winter,  when  the  snow-drifts 
were  as  high  as  the  horses' heads,"  —  and  so  on,  and  on, 
with  a  tedious  tale  of  egomet,  while  all  wait  with  impa- 
tience for  the  solicited  narrative  of  adventure.  The 
traveller  again  commences,  but  goes  not  far  before 
another  chord  is  struck  in  the  egotist's  mind,  which 
inharmoniously  interrupts  the  speaker,  who  now  despairs 
of  finishing  his  story.  Neither  iceberg  nor  volcano, 
geyser  nor  maelstrom,  tornado  nor  avalanche,  can  ar- 
rest the  egotist's  thoughts,  and  turn  them  from  beloved 
self.  Were  every  member  of  the  social  circle  equally 
governed  by  this  monopolizing  egotism,  they  would  re- 
semble a  flock  of  chickens  fighting  for  a  delicate  morsel 
thrown  among  them,  —  one  snatches  it  up  and  runs, 
another  seizes  it  and  begins  to  enjoy  it,  when  a  third 
makes  off  with  it,  but  chances  to  drop  the  prize ;  half  a 
dozen  new  claimants  fly  at  it,  until  it  is  finally  trampled 
under  foot  and  lost.  It  would  be  an  effectual  cure, 
were  the  egotist  to  bite  her  tongue  every  third  time 
that  I  or  me  came  to  the  tip  of  it.  "  The  unruly  mem- 
ber" would  run  the  risk  of  being  totally  disabled. 

"  Conversation  is  the  music  of  the  mind,  an  intellect- 
ual orchestra,  where  all  the  instruments  should  bear  a 
part,  but  where  none  should  play  together." 
15* 


174  THE  YOUNG  LADY7S  HOME. 

The  silly  tittle-tattle  of  meddlesome  busybodies  is 
almost  too  contemptible  to  be  noticed.  "  They  live 

very  expensively  at  Mr.  B 's;  so  their  cook  told 

our  waiter.  They  spend  for  the  table  alone  forty 
dollars  a  week,  week  in  and  out,  through  the  year." 
"What  do  they  have  for  dessert?"  "Creams  and 
ices,  fruits  and  pastry,  sweetmeats  and  jellies,  every 
thing  in  its  season."  "Well,  then,  I  think  they  must 
pinch  in  wine  or  meats,  —  for,  after  all,  that  is  no  great 

sum."  "  Mr.  G is  said  to  be  engaged  to  Miss 

K ;  is  it  so?"  "I  think  it  must  be,  for  they 

walked  home  from  church  together  last  Sunday,  and 
she  looked  very  lovingly  upon  him." 

"  Stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable"  stuff;  yet  this  makes 
up  the  sum  total  of  the  conversation  of  a  class  of  young 
ladies  who  have  much  leisure,  few  intellectual  resources, 
and  little  moral  principle. 

Girls  often  bring  from  the  boarding-school  a  sort  of 
school  slang,  which  they  have  sported  among  themselves, 
and  which  appears  as  awkwardly  in  society,  as  would 
the  red  morocco  shoes  that  delighted  their  infant  fancy. 
Others,  who  have  been  educated  at  home,  introduce 
the  bywords  and  pet  phrases,  which  are  playfully  em- 
ployed, and  may  be  tolerated,  in  the  family  circle,  but 
which  it  is  extremely  ill-bred  to  use  before  strangers. 
Indeed,  'every  thing  that  savors  of  cant,  slang,  and 
vulgarism  should  be  most  carefully  avoided.  Young 
men  at  college  become  familiar  with  a  set  of  words 
which  the  uninitiated  need  a  new  vocabulary  to  under- 
stand. Every  profession  and  employment  has  its  cant ; 
now  if  all  these  were  brought  into  society,  what  a  Ba- 
bylonish jargon  should  we  hear!  By  common  consent, 


CONVERSATION.  175 

every  thing  of  this  kind  is  pronounced  in  bad  taste  ;  but 
so  i'nveterate  are  habits,  that  even  refined  people  \vill 
betray  their  pursuits  and  their  places  of  residence,  by 
local  and  professional  cant.  And  often  the  habit  of  ex- 
aggeration is  acquired  at  school,  where  sweetest,  super- 
latively beautiful,  delicious,  the  most  beautiful,  the  most 
hateful,  most  horrible,  &c.,  &c.,  are  epithets  with  which 
all  conversation  is  plentifully  spiced.  Truthfulness  is 
thus  endangered,  and  although  there  is  no  intention  to  de- 
ceive, exaggeration  is  a  species  of  falsity,  morally  wrong. 

It  is  said  that  in  this  country  there  is  not  enough  of 
Vesprit  du  societe  to  elicit  that  brilliant  play  of  thought 
and  language,  which  gives  zest  to  the  conversation  of 
some  European  women ;  that  men  in  general  are  too 
much  occupied  with  business  and  politics,  and  meet  sel- 
dom for  social  intercourse,  and  women  have  too  little 
gayety,  taste,  and  cultivation,  to  render  conversation 
spirited  and  amusing.  "Things  are  often  said."  How 
true  it  may  be,  those  who  have  lived  much  in  town  can 
best  determine.  There  is  a  style  of  conversation  want- 
ing in  dazzling  brilliancy,  and,  perhaps,  in  light  and 
graceful  playfulness,  but  which  will  better  satisfy  reason 
and  conscience,  and  accords  better  with  the  dignified 
and  rational  character  of  a  well-educated  American  wo- 
man. Though  not  as  amusing,  it  is  characterized  by 
more  truthfulness  and  kindliness.  Sacred  subjects  are 
never  treated  with  lightness  or  unholy  familiarity ;  vices 
are  not  softened  down  before  ^e  roue  into  innocent 
gayeties,  very  pardonable  in  wealthy  young  men ;  exple- 
tives bordering  upon  profaneness  do  not  give  it  pungen- 
cy, nor  indelicate  allusions  sully  its  purity. 

"  She  openeth  her  mouth  with  wisdom,  and  in  her 


176  ,       THE    YOUNG    LADY7S    HOME. 

tongue  is  the  law  of  kindness."  This  is  what  gives  to 
conversation  its  crowning  excellence,  —  the  law  of  kind- 
ness,—  the  philosopher's  stone  that  transmutes  all  to 
gold.  Thoughts,  breathed  forth  from  a  warm,  true 
heart,  a  heart  forgetting  selfish  interests  in  a  generous 
sympathy  with  others,  find  a  ready  ear. 

A  pleasant  colloquial  style  appears  to  be  scarcely  at- 
tainable to  those  who  are  not  so  happy  as  to  enjoy  it 
from  nature.  Many  examples  might  be  given  of  men 
of  genius,  who  have  been  sadly  destitute  of  conversa- 
tional talents;  yet  all  have  by  no  means  been  thus  defi- 
cient. Coleridge  was  distinguished  above  all  his  con~ 
temporaries  for  the  wonderful  fluency  and  richness  of 
his  conversation  ;  yet  one  of  them  remarked,  that  "  he 
discoursed,  he  never  talked."  Walter  Scott  talked 
with  people  ;  we  might  know  that  from  his  works.  With 
his  warm-hearted  kindness,  infused  into  his  racy  style, — 
his  exhaustless  fund  of  anecdote,  and  immense  field  of 
illustration,  —  how  could  he  be  otherwise  than  a  delight- 
ful companion  ?  Hannah  More,  as  you  well  know,  was 
remarkable  for  her  colloquial  talents ;  in  early  life,  how 
difficult  would  it  have  been  for  her  to  deny  herself  the 
intense  delight  which  she  enjoyed  in  that  circle  of  learn- 
ing, wit,  eloquence,  and  rank,  where  she  shone  with 
such  unrivalled  brilliancy ;  not  altogether  unrivalled  ei- 
ther, for  there  were  the  warm-hearted  Mrs.  Boscawen, 
the  elegant  Mrs.  Montague,  and  the  learned  Mrs.  Eliza- 
beth Carter.  v 

Madame  de  Stael  was  so  fond  of  conversation,  that  it 
was  misery  for  her  to  live  out  of  Paris ;  for  there  only, 
in  her  estimation,  could  anything  deserving  the  name  of 
conversation  be  enjoyed.  Happily,  American  women 


CONVERSATION.  177 

know  little  of  conversation  as  a  fine  art,  and  therefore 
seldom  talk  for  display.  Although  the  just  demands  of 
society  often  call  them  from  their  own  firesides,  may 
their  sweetest,  dearest  enjoyments  be  there,  —  may  they 
ever  find  home  a  sphere  wide  enough  for  sprightly,  ra- 
tional, intellectual  conversation,  that,  whenever  they 
mingle  with  larger  circles,  it  may  be  easy,  useful,  cheer- 
ful, and  agreeable. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

EMPLOYMENT  OF  TIME. 

"  Spirit,  proud  spirit,  ponder  thy  state  ; 
If  thine  the  leaf's  lightness,  not  thine  the  leaf's  fate; 
It  may  flutter,  and  glisten,  and  wither,  and  die, 
And  heed  not  our  pity,  and  ask  not  our  sigh  ; 
But  for  thee,  the  immortal,  no  winter  may  throw 
Eternal  repose  on  thy  joy,  or  thy  woe  ; 
Thou  must  live,  and  live  ever,  in  glory  or  gloom, 
Beyond  the  world's  precincts,  beyond  the  dark  tomb." 

Miss  JEWSBUIIY. 

ISABELLA  '  S  JOURNAL  OF  A  WEEK. 

Monday.  Heard  the  morning  bell  ring,  but  felt  too 
sleepy  to  mind  it ;  turned  over  and  tried  to  resume  the 
thread  of  a  delightful  dream,  where  it  had  been  broken 
off  by  the  vexatious  jangling.  Could  not  sleep  again, 
but  continued  the  dream  in  a  sweet  reverie.  Enjoyed  it 
so  long,  that  there  was  no  time  to  dress  for  breakfast. 
Slipped  on  my  dressing-gown,  and  rang  for  Fanfan. 
Good  creature,  she  brought  me. delicious  hot  coffee,  an 
egg,  and  toast,  and,  while  I  discussed  my  breakfast,  I 
revelled  over  Bulwer's  last,  fresh  from  the  press.  Don't 

believe  Geraldine  M has  seen  it  yet.     So  delighted 

with  its  gorgeous  pictures  of  human  life,  that  I  nearly 
forgot  an  engagement  to  go  out  shopping,  and  paying 
half  a  dozen  morning  visits.  Dressed  in  a  hurry  ;  look- 
ed blowzy  as  a  milkmaid,  in  consequence.  Mem.  — 
Must  give  myself  more  time  to  arrange  my  toilet.  Hur- 

(178) 


EMPLOYMENT   OF    TIME.  179 

iy  discomposes  the  countenance,  and  gives  one  a  sort  of 
consciousness  that  is  decidedly  vulgar.  These  morning 
visits  are  a  horrid  bore.  Mrs.  M has  new  furnish- 
ed her  drawing-room!  Salmon  and  brown!  odious! 
Ottomans,  chairs,  lounges,  and  cushions,  all  embroidered 
by  the  girls.  Salmon  groundwork,  and  patterns  of  oak- 
leaves  and  acorns.  Horridly  natural !  And  this  is  the 
taste  they  have  brought  from  Paris,  after  a  two  years' 
residence  there.  Praised  every  thing  to  the  skies  ;  poor 

Mrs.    M most    exquisitely    delighted.       Geraldine 

looked  a  little  suspicious.  Had  company  to  dine, — 
some  of  papa's  "  sensible  men ;"  could  n't  bear  their 

prosing ;  left  them  to  come  and  dress  for  Mrs.  B 's 

ball.  Find  it  a  good  time  to  write  journal,  while  Fan- 
fan  dresses  my  hair.  I  can  now  and  then  take  a  peep 
in  the  mirror,  and  am  not  so  over-anxious  and  impatient 
as  when  I  watch  all  her  movements.  Ordered  the  car- 
riage to  be  at  the  door  at  half  past  nine ;  hate  to  be  too 
early. 

Tuesday.  Awoke  at  ten  o'clock,  so  exhausted  that  I 
could  not  rise.  Breakfasted  in  bed.  The  glare  of  light, 
and  the  crowded,  suffocating  rooms,  gave  me  an  intoler- 
able headache.  Could  scarcely  open  my  eyes.  Made 
Fanfan  bring  me  a  mirror.  How  pale  and  ugly  I  look- 
ed, —  eyes  inflamed,  —  lips  dry  and  feverish.  Obliged 
to  get  up  at  one,  to  dress  for  Mrs.  M 's  dinner-par- 
ty. Was  glad  enough  that  they  dine  at  decent  hours. 
Should  have  made  a  sorry  figure  in  broad  daylight. 
Splendid  porcelain,  glass,  and  plate ;  but  still  that  odi- 
ous salmon  and  brown  everywhere.  They  must  have 
ordered  their  porcelain  from  Sevres,  themselves,  for  no- 
body else  ever  had  such  a  want  of  taste.  Thought  I 
should  have  died  with  suppressed  laughter  to  hear  poor 


180 

Mrs.  M ask  Monsieur   Brouillard,  in   her  Yankee 

French, —  "  Admirez-vous  mes  filles  ouvrage?"  Un- 
lucky man!  he  bowed,  and  "  Pardonnez  moi,  pardon- 
nez,"  was  all  he  could  utter,  for  not  a  word  could  he . 
understand.  How  ridiculous  for  her  to  attempt  to  speak 
French!  I  never  try,  for  my  four  years'  study  has 
taught  rne  that  I  know  nothing  about  it.  Geraldine 

looked  as  if  she  would  flirt  with  W if  she  durst ; 

but  her  father's  eyes  were  seldom  turned  away  from  her 
long.  Papa  says  he  is  a  shocking  roue;  but  then  he  is 
so  elegant,  —  talks  such  brilliant  nonsense,  —  and  makes 
everybody  so  superlatively  ridiculous,  that  he  is  delight- 
ful. Handed  us  to  the  carnage,  and  then,  with  most 
imperturbable  impudence,  jumped  in,  right  in  the  face 
of  Aunt  Susan's  civil  "  Good  evening,  Sir,"  and  her 
significant  farewell  bow,  and  rode  home  with  us.  I 
verily  believe  he  would  have  walked  in  and  made  a 
call,  even  at  that  late  hour,  if  aunty  had  but  paid  him 
the  compliment  of  inviting  him. 

Wednesday.     Rainy.     Went  down  to  .breakfast,  and 
for  my  pains  got  a  horrid  scolding  from  papa,  for  letting 

W attend  me  home.    He  says  Aunt  Susan  will  never 

do  for  a  chaperon,  if  she  can't  keep  such  silly  sparks  away. 
Insisted  that  I  should  cut  his  acquaintance.  Can't  pos- 
sibly just  now,  as  I  have  made  an  engagement  to  go  with 

him  to  look  at  some  new  prints  at  C 's  in .    Half 

sorry,  but  can't  break  my  word.  Papa  scolded  me,  too, 
for  not  practising  more ;  so,  to  get  into  favor  again,  sat 
two  hours  at  the  piano  and  two  at  the  harp.  Papa 
says,  if  I  don't  read  and  speak  French,  I  shall  have  a 
master.  Horrid !  when  I  pass  for  accomplished  ;  what 
a  disclosure  that  would  be!  Told  Fanfan  to  give  the 
word  "  not  at  home"  to  the  waiter,  for  all  day.  Was 


THE    EMPLOYMENT    OF   TIME.  181 

vexed  half  to  death  when  I  found  W 's  card  among 

those  that  had  been  left.  Geraldine  M 's,  too  ;  won- 
der if  they  came  together.  A  tete-a-tete  dinner  with  papa. 
Lectured  me  constantly  about  my  awkwardness  ;  first,  I 
spilled  half  a  drop  of  soup  ;  then,  because  I  laid  my 
fork  upon  the  table-cloth ;  then,  because  I  did  not  say 
what  part  of  the  bird  I  would  have  that  he  was  carving. 
Mimicked  me  in  the  most  ridiculous  manner,  —  "It  is 
immaterial,  Sir."  Then  I  was  vexed,  and  cried,  and 
at  length  was  obliged  to  leave  the  table  before  dessert ; 
threw  myself  upon  the  bed  and  bawled  outright.  I  am 
wretched.  I  wish  papa  was  not  so  dreadfully  particular. 
He  really  could  not  have  been  more  severe  upon  me 
for  some  very  great  fault  than  he  was  for  my  gaucheries. 
Then,  to  add  to  all  his  other  severities,  he  would  not  let 

me  go  to  Mrs.  G 's  to-night.     I  know  why ;  she  is 

W 's  aunt,  and  my  wise  papa  says  she  is  an  in- 
triguing, manoeuvring  woman.  Thank  my  stars,  I  can 
manoeuvre  for  myself. 

Thursday.  Awoke  early,  refreshed  with  a  long  night's 
sleep.  A  kind  message  from  papa,  hoping  I  had  recov- 
ered from  my  headache.  Went  down  all  smiles  and 
good-humour.  The  good  man  was  quite  delighted  ;  filled 

my   purse    nobly.      Went   into  street   at   twelve. 

Met  W and  walked  with  him  for  an  hour.     He  is 

a  delightful  creature ;    his  remarks  upon  everybody  so 

piquant.     How  he  ridiculed  poor  Mrs.  Zebediah  K 

and  her  fat  daughters ;  and,  more  than  all,  my  favorite 

aversion,   Mrs.  M .     Bought   four   splendid   prints 

for  my  portfolio,  because  W admired  them.    Came 

home  and  dressed  for  dinner.     Some   of  papa's   "  sen- 
sible men"  to  dine  with  him.     Tried  to  talk  to  a  trav- 
eller, but  found  I  had  quite  forgotten  my  geography; 
16 


182  THE  YOUNG  LADY7S  HOME. 

can't  imagine  where  Apulia  is.  Made  some  egregious 
blunder  in  talking  to  Dr.  R about  English  litera- 
ture. Papa  looked  mortified  and  vexed.  Wonder  if 
he  thinks  I  ought  to  know  every  thing.  Promised  to 
take  me  to  the  theatre  to-night ;  a  great  privilege,  for 
he  will  not  allow  me  to  go  often,  because  it  is  not 
genteel. 

Friday.  Exquisitely  entertained. 's  perform- 
ance was  magnificent.  She  well  deserves  her  reputa- 
tion, and  is,  sans  doute,  the  leading  star.  I  am  glad  I 
saw  her  in  her  crack  character.  I  can't  see  why  papa 
is  so  rigid  about  the  theatre.  He  says  three  times  in  a 
season  is  enough  for  a  young  lady ;  it  is  not  in  good 
taste  to  go  oftener.  Do  not  know  what  to  do  with  my- 
self till  it  is  time  to  dress  for  dinner.  Dull,  formal 
dinner  at  Mrs.  F 's ;  nobody  ever  there  but  cler- 
gymen and  doctors.  Wish  I  could  get  resolution  to 
take  up  a  book  from  that  immense  pile,  for  the  improve- 
ment of  my  mind.  Fanfan  carefully  dusts  them  every 
day,  and  that  is  all  the  handling  they  have  yet  had.  O, 
I  can't  touch  them  now,  for  I  must  practise !  Papa 

intends  I  shall  play  at  Mrs.  R 's  this  evening;  a 

select  party ;  not  more  than  a  hundred.  Let  me  see, 
what  shall  I  play  ?  Dl  tanti  palpiti  ?  It  is  as  old  as 

the  hills,  and  voted  passe;  but  W admires  it,  and 

if  I  play  it,  he  will  thank  me  so  expressively ! 

Saturday.  W does  turn  over  a  music-book 

more  gracefully  than  any  other  living  being.  All  the 
world  allows  he  has  uncommonly  fine  taste  in  music. 
He  said  I  played  divinely  last  evening.  How  jealous 
somebody  looked.  Going  to  leave  my  card  at  a  dozen 
places  where  I  know  they  are  out.  All  gone  to  the 
raffle  this  morning.  It  is  a  shame  that  I  could  not  have 


EMPLOYMENT    OF    TIME.  183 

a  ticket ;  only  twenty  dollars  apiece,  and  but  fifty  tick- 
ets, and  such  a  splendid  diamond  snufF-box !  It  really 
was  given  by  Napoleon  to  one  of  his  generals.  It 
would  have  made  such  a  splendid  addition  to  my  bijou- 
terie. I  hope  Geraldine  M will  not  get  it.  Her 

pearls  are  finer  than  mine.  Poor  Mrs.  M says 

they  were  "  bought  in  Paris ;  and  it  stands  to  reason, 

that  they  should  be  le  mieux."  These  M s  are  not 

genteel  after  all  their  fuss;  yet  I  am  eaten  up. with  envy 

and  hatred  towards  them.  Must  go  to  Madame 1s 

and  try  on  my  bonnet.  How  many  hours'  reflection  it 
has  cost  me !  and  now  I  am  anxious  about  it.  If  it 
should  not  be  becoming,  O,  dear,  dear!  what  should  I 
do  ?  I  must  wear  it  to-morrow. 

Sunday.  Hoped  it  would  rain,  because  I  had  a  pimple 
on  my  nose  ;  but  ;uo,  it  is  bright  and  clear  as  possible. 
Must  begin  to  dress.  My  bonnet  is  perfect. 

Sunday  Evening.  What  a  sermon  from  Dr.  ! 

While  I  listened,  the  tears  actually  came  into  my  eyes. 
It  was  upon  the  uncertainty  of  life.  But  I  am  yet  so 
young ;  life  is  bright  before  me ;  how  could  1  deny 
myself  delightful  balls  and  parties?  Yet,  if  what  Dr. 

says,  is  true,  I  am  made  for  something  better. 

When  he  described  « the  self-pleaser,"  I  am  sure  he 
looked  at  me ;  his  dark  eyes  seemed  to  pierce  to  my 
very  heart.  Papa  said,  coining  home,  that  I  had  shown 

uncommon  taste  in  the  choice  of  my  bonnet,  and  W 

bowed  to  me  as  I  passed  him,  with  such  empressement ! 
Well,  I  will  read  a  chapter  in  the  Bible  to-night,  for  I 
mean,  some  time  or  other,  to  be  good. 

Can  it  be,  that  an  immortal  creature  thus  spends 
years  of  a  brief  probation  ?  How  precious  is  the  treas- 


184 

ure  whose  golden  sands  are  thus  treacherously  wasting 
away !  The  question  comes  home  to  every  con- 
science,—  How  shall  I  perform  the  duties  that  I  owe 
to  my  Creator,  my  fellow-beings,  and  myself?  "As 
he  that  lives  longest,"  says  a  great  moralist,  "  lives 
but  a  little  while,  every  man  may  be  certain  that  he  has 
no  time  to  waste. ,  The  duties  of  life  are  commensurate 
to  its  duration,  and  every  day  brings  its  task,  which,  if 
neglected,  is  doubled  on  the  morrow.  But  he  that  has 
already  trifled  away  those  months  and  years  in  which 
he  should  have  labored,  must  remember  that  he  has 
now  only  a  part  of  that  of  which  the  whole  is  little ; 
and  that  since  the  few  moments  remaining  are  to  be 
considered  as  the  last  trust  of  Heaven,  not  one  is  to  be 
lost." 

It  would  be  well  for  every  one,  after  a  careful  con- 
sideration of  her  own  condition  and  responsibilities,  to 
make  out  a  set  of  rules  for  the  arrangement  of  time. 
The  peculiar  circumstances  of  each  individual  would 
have  their  influence  in  modifying  these  rules ;  but  every 
one  should  be  systematic.  Something  like  the  following 
might  be  appropriate  to  your  condition,  namely  :  — 

1.  My  waking  thoughts  shall  be  upon  my  Heavenly 
Father,  who  has  spread  over  me  the  wings  of  love,  and 
opened   my  eyes  upon   another  day.      Sensible   of  his 
mercy,  and  anxious  for  a  continuation  of  his  blessings, — 

2.  I  will  spend  half  an  hour  (or  more),  before  break- 
fast, in  reading  his  Holy  Word,  and  in  prayer.  . 

3.  After   breakfast    I   will    endeavor   to     assist    my 
mother.     Should  she  need   my  aid  in  the  nursery,  or 
in  the  pantry,  or  elsewhere,  it  shall  be  cheerfully  yielded. 

4.  If  the  occupations  of  the  morning  do  not  afford 
sufficient   exercise,  I  will  walk  with   my  younger  sis- 


EMPLOYMENT    OF   TIME.  185 

ter,  and  call  upon  some  poor  pensioner  upon  my  moth- 
er's bounty.  I  can  set  her  room  in  order,  perhaps,  and 
my  little  sister  can  carry  some  flowers  to  give  it  a  more 
cheerful  look.  I  can  read  the  poor  old  woman  a  chap- 
ter in  her  beloved  Bible,  and  then  return  home.  I  must 
devote  some  time  every  day  (or  every  week)  to  this,  or 
some  other  benevolent  purpose. 

5.  My  next  hour  must  be  for  study.     As  one  hour  is 
all  that  I  can  now  devote  to  it,  my  application  must  be 
such  as  to  make  it  profitable. 

6.  My  wardrobe  must  be  kept  in  order.     A  portion 
of  time,  sufficient  for  this  purpose,  must  be  daily  devoted 
to  it,  or  to  some  other  needle-work. 

7.  I  must  be  on  my  guard  against  time-stealers,  who 
would  entertain  me  for  hours  with  scandal  and  unprofita- 
ble gossip.     Endeavor,  when  making  those  visits  which 
friendship  and  the  etiquette  of  society  demand,  to  avoid 
these  faults  myself. 

8.  An  hour  or  two  for  miscellaneous  reading,  to  writ- 
ing letters,  or  an  analysis  of  what  I  have  been  reading. 
I  will  not  indulge  myself  in  sleep,  when  in  health,  dur- 
ing the  day. 

9.  I  will  endeavor  to  spend  my  time  at  table  profit- 
ably, promoting,  as  far  as  lies   in  my  power,  cheerful 
social  intercourse. 

10.  If  my  father   require   any  assistance  that  I  can 
render,  my  time  must  be  appropriated  to  it.     If  I  can 
entertain  him  with  music,  or  reading  aloud  in  the  even- 
ing, I  will  endeavor  always  to  be  in  readiness. 

11.  At  the  close  of  every  day,  I  will  spend   some 
time  in  self-examination, — 

"  Talk  with  my  past  hours, 
And  ask  them  what  report  they  bore  to  heaven." 

16* 


186 

12.  I  will  again  read  a  portion  of  God's  holy  book, 
and  of  some  other  book  of  practical  or  devotional  re- 
ligion. 

13.  Again  will  I  commend  myself  to  the  care  of  Al- 
mighty God ;  confess  my  sins ;  implore  his  pardon  for 
the  sake  of  Jesus  Christ ;  ask  for  his  grace  and  inter- 
cession, and  for  the  aid  and  guidance  of  his  Holy  Spirit. 

Such  plain,  specific  rules,  conscientiously  written, 
and  conscientiously  acted  upon,  may  keep  you  from  that 
temptation  which  you  pray  not  to  be  led  into ;  but  to 
which  idleness,  and  the  want  of  arrangement  in  the  em- 
ployment of  time,  would  expose  you  every  hour. 

God  may  have  showered  upon  you  noble  gifts ;  life 
is  passing  away,  and  are  these  gifts  still  used  only  for 
self-gratification,  ministering  to  your  own  pride  ?  The 
moral  influence  that  you  exert  at  this  period  of  life, 
when  the  spell  of  youth  and  beauty  is  around  you,  is 
incalculable.  It  is  fearful  to  consider  with  what  thought- 
less unconcern  you  are  exerting  this  influence.  Hith- 
erto, your  time  has  been  mostly  under  the  control  of 
others;  nowr,  you  have  more  freedom,  more  leisure, 
and  the  one,  five,  or  ten  talents  which  the  all-wise  Dis- 
penser has  bestowed,  must  be  doubled  by  your  earnest 
zeal  and  untiring  perseverance.  The  work  of  self- 
education  must  go  on ;  but  self  must  not  monopolize 
your  time  and  heart.  "  The  varied  air  and  scenery  of 
nature  are  not  more  intended  and  adapted  to  renew 
bodily  health,  than  are  the  varied  spheres  of  benevolence 
to  promote  mental  health.  Have  something  good  to 
live  for,  beyond  yourself,  if  you  would  live  happy." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

FRIENDSHIP. 

"Friendship  is  no  plant  of  hasty  growth  : 
Though  rooted  in  esteem's  deep  soil,  the  slow 
And  gradual  culture  of  kind  intercourse 
Must  bring  it  to  perfection." — JOANNA  BAILLIE. 

THE  human  heart  needs  the  solace  of  sympathy ;  the 
mind,  too,  seeks  companionship.  During  life's  early 
morning,  friendships  are  the  result  of  accident  rather 
than  of  choice ;  yet  even  then,  there  is  some  real  or 
fancied  congeniality  of  feeling.  As  the  judgment  ma- 
tures, you  will  be  able  to  analyze  character,  and  to 
choose  friends  with  more  discrimination.  Yet  how  sel- 
dom, even  at  the  noon  of  life,  is  the  judgment  exercised 
in  the  choice  ;  some  fortuitous  circumstances  bring  us 
into  propinquity  with  one  of  whose  mind  and  heart  we 
know  little ;  an  intimacy  is  formed  which  bears  the 
name  of  friendship,  though  wanting  in  some  of  its  essen- 
tial ingredients.  This  companionship  is  what  usually 
passes  current  in  the  world  for  the  pure  beaten  gold  of 
friendship.  You  may,  in  the  course  of  life,  complain 
of  the  selfishness,  the  inconstancy,  the  desertion,  of 
friends,  when  they  were  never  such ;  they  were  only 
united  to  you  by  those  cobweb-chains  with  which  inter- 
est binds  society  together.  A  heart  filled  with  integrity 
is  never  distrustful,  and  they  who  are  most  in  danger 
of  being  deceived  are  themselves  strangers  to  suspicion 

(187) 


188 

and  deception.  Yet  the  friendship  of  such  is  often 
sought  by  the  self-interested.  The  cunning,  who  have 
not  sincere  and  upright  hearts,  know  the  value  of  them. 

But  we  are  romantic  enough  to  believe,  that  there  is 
such  a  treasure  as  true  friendship,  even  in  this  imper- 
fect state  ;  the  true  metal,  but  not  without  the  dross 
that  alloys  every  thing  of  human  origin.  If  you  feel  a 
modest  consciousness,  my  kind  reader,  of  deserving  a 
sincere  friend,  you  will  doubtless  gain  one.  Well  says 
the  wise  man,  — "  He  that  would  have  friends  must 
show  himself  friendly." 

Our  blessed  Saviour,  when  on  earth,  enjoyed,  we 
may  reverently  believe,  the  pleasures  of  friendship. 
With  Martha,  and  Mary,  and  their  brother,  he  seemed, 
emphatically,  at  home.  In  his  human  nature,  a  man  of 
sorrows  and  acquainted  with  grief,  he  needed  the  sym- 
pathy and  kindness  of  intimate  friendship,  and  found 
them  in  the  disciple  who  leaned  upon  his  bosom,  the 
loving  and  beloved  John.  What  touching  proof  the 
dying  Jesus  gave  of  trustful  faith  in  this  friend  !  "  When 
Jesus  saw  his  mother  and  the  disciple  standing  by,  whom 
he  loved,  he  saith  unto  his  mother,  Woman,  behold 
thy  son !  Then  saith  he  to  the  disciple,  Behold  thy 
mother!  And  from  that  hour,  that  disciple  took  her  unto 
his  own  home." 

True  friendship  cannot  exist  without  entire  confidence, 
a  self-sacrificing  spirit,  and  mutual  forbearance. 

There  must  be  confidence  in  the  character  of  a 
friend. 

Unless  you  believed  your  friend  to  possess  generosity, 
sensibility,  and  affection  for  you,  there  would  be  little 
love  on  your  part;  sincerity,  prudence,  and  integrity, 
or  there  would  be  no  respect.  This  belief  leads  to 


FRIENDSHIP.  189 

trustfulness  and  unreserve  in  communicating  your  senti- 
ments, hopes,  sorrows,  fears,  plans  of  usefulness,  —  in 
short,  every  thing  that  interests  you, — that  you  may  elicit 
sympathy  or  advice.  How  important  is  it,  then,  that 
your  friend  should  not  only  possess  an  amiable  character, 
but,  in  addition,  those  fixed  principles  which  alone  give 
stability  and  permanence  to  the  qualities  that  you  love 
and  respect! 

A  self-sacrificing  spirit  is  indispensable.  Wait  not 
to  be  told  how  you  can  oblige  your  friend,  but  find  ways 
of  doing  it  yourself;  invent  them.  If  she  is  more  ad- 
mired and  caressed  than  yourself,  rejoice  that  you  pos- 
sess the  love  of  one  so  amiable.  If,  on  the  other  hand, 
you  have  the  superiority,  make  it  up  by  the  more  assi- 
duity and  tenderness  on  your  part ;  at  the  same  time, 
be  careful  that  her  delicacy  is  not  wounded  by  these 
efforts ;  you  do  not  wish  to  burden  her  with  gratitude, 
lest  the  equality  of  friendship  should  be  destroyed. 

But  this  spirit  has  its  severest  trial,  when  sincerity  and 
honesty  compel  you  to  reprove  and  admonish.  There 
are  times  when  you  will  be  obliged  to  run  the  risk  of 
losing  a  friend  by  your  faithfulness.  Shrink  not  from 
the  responsibility.  If  you  consider  it  one  of  the  advan- 
tages of  friendship  that  it  is  the  means  of  refining  and 
exalting  human  character,  you  will  receive  advice  and 
reproof  thankfully,  and  offer  it  kindly  and  sincerely. 

Imperfect  and  sinful  beings  as  we  know  ourselves  to 
be,  we  need  much  forbearance,  even  from  those  who 
love  us  best.  Because  you  find  a  friend  has  some  faults, 
that  is  no  reason  why  you  should  discard  her.  God  for- 
bid that  you  should  ever  have  the  bitterness  and  anguish 
resulting  from  the  discovery  that  you  have  loved  and 
trusted  one  who  was  utterly  unworthy !  There  should 


190 

be  a  constant  endeavor  to  elevate  and  purify  the  heart 
and  mind  of  your  friend,  and  a  still  more  vigorous  effort 
to  improve  your  own.  Sad  and  disheartening  would  it 
be,  if  we  could  never  have  friends  until  we  felt  perfectly 
worthy  of  their  love.  Then,  in  mournful  desolateness, 
might  we  exclaim, — 

"Each  in  his  hidden  sphere  of  joy  or  woe, 
Our  hermit  spirits  dwell,  or  range  apart." 
\ 

We  have  much  on  our  side  to  be  borne  with  and  to  be 
forgiven.  How  much  it  becomes  us,  then,  to  look  with 
a  charitable,  tender  and  forgiving  spirit  upon  the  faults 
of  our  friends ! 

The  youthful  aspirant  for  friendship  must  put  far  away 
"the  romantic  expectations  which  spring  from  a  too  vivid 
imagination.  Her  Utopian  dreams  may  prevent  the  en- 
joyment of  that  calm,  rational,  but  still  imperfect  friend- 
ship, which  alone  exists  in  this  fallen  world. 

"But  for  those  bonds,  all-perfect  made, 

Wherein  bright  spirits  blend, 
Like  sister  flowers  of  one  sweet  shade, 

With  the  same  breeze  that  bend,— 
For  that  full  bliss  of  thought  allied, 

Never  to  mortals  given, — 
O,  lay  thy  lovely  dreams  aside, 

Or  lift  them  unto  heaven!" 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

ACTING  FROM  GENERAL  PRINCIPLES. 

UI  do  not  put  abstract  ideas  wholly  out  of  any  question,  because  I 
well  know  that,  under  that  name  I  should  dismiss  principles;  and 
that  without  the  guide  of  sound,  well-understood  principles,  all 
reasonings  would  be  only  a  confused  jumble  of  particular  facts  and 
details,  without  the  means  of  drawing  out  any  sort  of  theoretical  or 
practical  conclusion."  —  BUEK.E. 

A  principle  is  a  truth  admitted  as  fully  proved,  in- 
volving many  subordinate  truths.  A  rule  may  be  merely 
arbitrary  or  conventional,  formed  to  suit  some  particular 
condition  of  society,  established  without  other  authority 
than  that  of  the  members  of  that  community,  and  only 
obligatory  upon  them.  The  manners  and  customs  of 
different  nations  are  such  rules.  A  precept  is  a  com- 
mand respecting  moral  conduct,  having  the  sanction  of 
revealed  truth.  Neither  rules  nor  precepts  can  be  found 
suited  to  all  occasions  and  to  every  individual  being  ;  but 
there  are  principles  which  are  universally  applicable. 
The  Bible  contains  a  few  such  general  principles,  found- 
ed in  immutable  truth,  and  of  infinite  obligation.  Un- 
fortunately, they  are  not  the  governing  principles  of  many 
of  the  human  race  ;  instead  of  them,  rules  and  maxims 
are  substituted,  without  questioning  their  origin  or  their 
tendency.  Among  these  maxims  sanctioned  by  long 
usage  is  the  very  popular  one,  —  "Do  at  Rome  as  the 
Romans  do."  It  has  ruined  millions.  It  makes  no  ex- 
ceptions, but,  sweeping  away  the  whole  moral  code, 

(191) 


192  THE  YOUNG  LADY'S  HOME. 

leaves  you  to  be  governed  entirely  by  public  opinion, 
which  changes,  like  the  clouds  of  a  sunset  sky,  into  thou- 
sands of  fantastic  shapes,  taking  their  momentary  hues 
from  apparently  accidental  causes.  You  reply,  perhaps, 
—  "  We  must  do  as  other  people  do  ;  the  many  proba- 
bably  are  right,  and  we  should  be  ridiculed  or  blamed  by 
them  if  we  were  singular."  So  far  as  regards  fashions, 
customs,  and  modes,  that  do  not  involve  moral  consid- 
erations, it  is  wrell  to  show  an  accommodating  spirit;  it 
is  no  proof  of  greatness  or  goodness  to  affect  singularity, 
or  to  despise  suitable  attention  to  these  things.  But 
then  nice  discrimination  must  be  used,  to  ascertain 
whether  they  encroach  upon  what  is  true,  lawful,  and 
right. 

What  will  people  say  ?  Alas !  how  many  have  been 
driven  from  the  path  of  duty  by  this  intangible  phantom  ! 
Terrific  consideration  !  What  will  people  say  ? 

"  They  praise  and  they  admire,  they  know  not  what, 
And  know  not  whom,  but  as  one  leads  the  other 
And  what  delight,  to  be  by  such  extolled, 
To  live  upon  their  tongues,  and  be  their  talk, 
Of  whom  to  be  dispraised  were  no  small  praise, 
His  lot  who  dares  be  singularly  good?'1 

Until  this  dreaded  people's  opinion  is  based  upon 
Christian  principles,  it  cannot  be  a  safe  guide. 

Neither  is  it  safe  to  take  for  a  model  a  fallible  mor- 
tal, ever  liable  to  err.  Your  admiring  partiality  may 
lead  you  even  to  imitate  the  faults  and  imbibe  the  preju- 
dices of  your  model.  How  will  you  act  for  yourself, 
under  new  circumstances,  when  you  have  not  your  guide 
at  hand  ?  Encompassed  with  doubt  and  perplexity,  you 
hesitate  until  the  time  for  action  is  lost,  or  necessity 
brings  you  to  a  hasty,  irrational  decision. 

Will  it  be  for  my  worldly  interest  ?     Such  a  motive 


ACTING   FROM    GENERAL    PRINCIPLES.  193 

looks  glaringly  odious  in  black  and  white  ;  yet  how  large 
a  portion  of  mankind  are  governed  by  no  other!  Who, 
that  has  not  been  sullied  by  long  intercourse  with  the 
world,  does  not  turn  from  it  with  aversion?  Besides, 
it  is  often  difficult  to  decide  what  is  for  one's  worldly 
interest ;  the  world  is  an  exceedingly  capricious  idol, 
and,  when  you  have  served  her  too  openly,  may  turn 
upon  you  with  contempt. 

It  becomes,  then,  of  the  utmost  consequence,  to  fix 
some  general  principles  of  conduct  in  the  mind,  that  you 
may  not  be  driven  about,  like  thistle-down,  by  every  idle 
breath. 

The  Bible  contains  two  grand,  ultimate  principles  ; 
namely,  holiness  produces  happiness;  sin,  misery.  All 
the  commands  of  God  are  founded  upon  this  immutable 
truth ;  the  precepts  of  the  gospel  flow  from  the  same 
source.  "  Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  with  all  thy  heart, 
and  thy  neighbour  as  thyself."  "  Do  unto  others  as  you 
would  that  others  should  do  unto  you." 

But  my  young  friends  may  say  it  is  difficult  to  act 
from  general  principles  ;  it  requires  reflection  and  reason- 
ing. Arid  for  what  else  were  reason  and  conscience 
given,  but  to  control  accountable  beings  ?  When  these 
ultimate  principles,  and  those  directly  deduced,  are  un- 
derstood, and  the  decision  is  made  to  act  from  them,  the 
whole  conduct  will  in  time  be  habitually  referred  to 
them ;  and  instead  of  being  hampered  and  burdened 
with  thousands  of  rules  and  maxims,  that  may  or  may 
not  be  applicable,  the  freed  spirit  rejoices  in  the  glorious 
liberty  of  truth. 

You  are  surrounded  by  a  circle  of  your  acquaintances, 
who  are  dissecting  the  character  of  an  absent  member  of 
that  circle.  They  magnify  her  faults,  they  ridicule  her 
17 


194  THE  YOUNG  LADY'S  HOME. 

foibles,  they  misinterpret  her  motives.  What  are  your 
principles?  Is  it  immovably  fixed  in  your  mind,  that 
slander  is  a  violation  of  the  ninth  command  of  the  deca- 
logue? Then  your  countenance  will  express  disappro- 
bation, and,  if  possible,  you  will  gently,  but  courageously, 
defend  the  absent. 

Is  it  customary,  in  the  place  where  you  reside,  to  send 
the  message,  "  not  at  home,"  when  it  is  not  convenient  to 
receive  visiters  ?  In  defence  of  it,  it  is  said,  that  it  is  per- 
fectly understood  ;  it  is  the  fashion;  everybody  thinks  it 
right.  But  is  it  truth,  simple  truth,  more  precious  than 
gold  ?  Truth  is  essential  to  holiness ;  falsehood  is  sin. 
You  not  only  depart  from  strict  verity  yourself,  but  also, 
oblige  another  to  utter  a  falsehood.  You  teach  deception, 
perhaps,  to  an  ignorant  being,  who  may  thereby  be  led 
into  an  endless  train  of  dishonesty  and  crime.  You  shud- 
der at  the  idea  of  uttering  an  absolute  falsehood,  when 
it  is  thus  presented  to  you ;  but  have  you  not  often  been 
guilty  of  it,  in  this  manner,  without  compunction  ? 

You  are  in  company  writh  young  men,  who  are  called 
"  gay,  fashionable,  spirited,  good-hearted  fellows.3' 
They  jest  about  sacred  things.  Do  you  smile  with 
them,  or  does  your  countenance,  "  more  in  sorrow  than 
in  anger,"  administer  deserved  reproof?  Do  you  accept 
from  their  hands  two  or  three  glasses  of  champagne, 
while  they,  following  your  example,  think  ten  or  twelve 
glasses  not  too  much  for  themselves  ?  And  then,  can 
you  make  sport  of  it,  if  they  are  a  "little  merry"? 
Perhaps  your  smile  has  encouraged  the  first  step  on  the 
fearful  road  to  irretrievable  ruin  ;  your  example  severed 
the  last  restraint ;  your  levity  sealed  the  doom  of  an 
only  son,  the  joy  and  hope  of  his  aged  parents.  If 
things  were  called  by  their  right  names,  what  you  fre- 


ACTING   FROM    GENERAL    PRINCIPLES.  195 

quently  hear  mentioned  as  gayety  and  fashionable  folly 
would  excite  disgust  and  abhorrence. 

Fixed  principles  will  produce  true  independence  of 
mind,  an  excellence  rarely  found,  even  among  men  ;  by 
some,  it  is  thought  incompatible  with  the  natural  delicacy 
of  female  character ;  but  since  God  has  created  you 
rational  and  accountable,  and  given  you  principles  for 
your  guidance,  you  cannot  say  to  any  human  being, — 

"God  is  thy  law,  —  thou,  mine;  to  know  no  more 
Is  woman's  happiest  knowledge  and  her  praise." 

You  cannot  fulfil  the  duties  that  devolve  upon  you  in 
relation  to  others,  without  some  independence.  You  can- 
not live  without  exerting  influence  ;  perhaps  many  look 
to  you  for  example ;  if  your  course  is  as  uncertain  as 
that  of  the  fluttering  insect,  governed  by  the  impulse  of 
the  moment,  you  can  hardly  fail  to  mislead.  Generous 
impulses,  noble  impulses,  are  often  lauded ;  but  so  long 
as  the  human  heart  is  sinful,  you  may  not  trust  implicitly 
to  its  impulses ;  they  may  be  right,  but  it  is  mournfully 
certain,  that  they  may  be  wrong. 

Independence  of  mind  gains  confidence.  They  who 
seek  popularity  by  listening  with  a  pleased  and  acquies- 
cent ear  to  everybody's  opinion,  without  advancing  any 
themselves,  may  gain  it  for  a  time,  but  it  cannot  be  last- 
ing. The  self-love  of  the  multitude  will  be  thus  grati- 
fied, until  they  reflect;  then,  they  despise  the  passive 
beings  who  have  flattered  and  cajoled  them.  The 
wavering,  yielding  mind  has  no  confidence  in  itself,  and 
surely  can  inspire  none. 

True  independence,  or  moral  courage,  based  upon 
Christian  principles,  secures  peace  of  mind  and  a  quiet 
conscience.  That  being  must  resemble  "  the  troubled 
sea  when  it  cannot  rest,"  who  has  a  knowledge  of  right 


196 

principles,  without  moral  courage  to  act  from  them , 
wave  after  wave  sweeps  them  away,  leaving  the  vacil- 
lating theorizer  a  prey  to  tormenting  and  unavailing  re- 
grets. Broken  resolutions  ape  thorns  not  easily  extract- 
ed from  the  conscientious  mind.  There  is  no  rational 
cheerfulness  but  that  which  flows  from  a  good  con- 
science. 

This  independence,  or  moral  courage,  should  never  be 
obtrusive,  —  never  savor  of  self-sufficiency.  "  It  vaunt- 
eth  not  itself,  is  not  puffed  up,  doth  not  behave  itself 
unseemly."  Having  for  its  foundation  those  principles 
which  are  "  pure,  lovely,  and  of  good  report,"  it  should 
carry  itself  modestly  and  gently.  Although  every  one 
ought  to  possess  moral  courage  strong  enough  to  bear 
them  right  onward  in  the  path  of  duty,  judgment,  sober 
judgment,  must  teach  ihem.when  they  are  called  upon  to 
act.  It  is  not  your  province,  fair  reader,  to  be  censor- 
general;  nor,  "with  the  cant  of  philanthropy,  to  go 
Quixoting  for  adventures  on  the  fields  of  humanity." 
What  can  be  more  dangerous  for  a  young  lady,  than 
what  in  common  parlance  is  styled  disregarding  public 
opinion  7  It  would  not  be  very  convincing  proof,  either 
of  the  delicacy  of  her  sentiments,  or  the  correctness  and 
strength  of  her  principles.  A  truly  delicate-minded 
young  lady  shrinks  from  the  idea  of  being  subjected  to 
public  opinion.  She  ought  to  love  and  cherish  the  good 
opinion  of  her  friends  as  inestimably  precious ;  but,  in 
general,  she  should  desire  that  the  world  at  large  say  as 
little  as  possible  about  her.  She  asks  not  the  world's 
praise,  and  hopes  to  escape  its  censure,  in  the  quiet, 
noiseless  path  that  she  pursues.  It  is  pitiable  if  any, 
misled  by  excessive  love  of  admiration,  are  seen  in 
the  streets,  and  rn  public  assemblies,  till  they  become 


ACTING    FROM    GENERAL    PRINCIPLES.  197 

the  talking- stock  of  every  idler  and  gossip  in  the  com- 
munity. 

"Virtue  itself 'scapes  not  calumnious  strokes; 
The  canker  galls  the  infants  of  the  spring, 
Too  oft  before  the  buttons  are  disclosed ; 
And  in  the  morn  and  liquid  dew  of  youth 
Contagious  blastments  are  most  imminent." 

It  is  not,  then,  that  daring  masculine  independence 
which  braves  the  world  that  becomes  a  woman.  Nei- 
ther will  her  own  fixed  principles  make  her  less  rever- 
ential,—  less  docile.  Happily,  the  sphere  in  which 
her  Creator  places  her,  though  it  calls  for  the  habitual 
exercise  of  moral  courage,  does  not  often  demand 
unshrinking  boldness.  She  is,  from  physical  constitu- 
tion, timid  and  dependent;  the  affections  are  the  no- 
blest part  of  her  nature,  and  they  are  exalted  and 
strengthened  by  those  principles  by  which  she  should 
for  ever  be  governed. 


17 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

PREJUDICE. 

•'Prejudice.  Wise  men  imbibe,  and  fools  never  get  rid  of  it.  It 
is  a  little  vile  weed,  which  grows  in.  every  man's  garden. — ANOIT. 

ALL  that  we  call  opinions,  which  are  not  the  result  of 
reasoning  and  reflection,  are  prejudices. 

There  are  prejudices  of  childhood ;  prejudices  im- 
bibed from  parents  and  teachers;  prejudices  derived 
from  books  ;  and  selfish  prejudices. 

We  revel  amidst  the  sweet  reminiscences  of  child- 
hood ;  but  the  glory  that  like  a  halo  surrounds  it  gives 
it  the  dim  uncertainty  most  favorable  to  prejudice. 
They  who  were  kind  and  indulgent  to  us  were  good  and 
lovely ;  we  knew  no  other  criterion  of  excellence ;  the 
bad  excited  wonder  and  abhorrence  only  as  they  figured 
in  the  tales  of  the  nursery.  If,  unfortunately,  the  Su- 
preme Being  was  represented  as  awful  in  power  and  fear- 
ful in  severity,  without  his  most  distinguishing  attribute 
of  love,  the  infant  mind  shuddered  at  the  idea  of  his 
presence.  The  darkness  was  horrible,  for  the  terrific 
being  was  there,  and  the  effort  was  made  to  drive 
him  entirely  from  the  thoughts.  Here  were  the  first 
prejudices  against  religion  ;  —  deeply-rooted  prejudices, 
haunting  us  in  long  after  years.  Had  God  been  uni- 
formly represented  as  a  kind  and  benevolent  being,  sup- 
plying all  the  wants  of  childhood,  making  the  glorious 
sun  to  shine,  and  the  beautiful  flowers  to  bud  and  blos- 

(198) 


PREJUDICE.  199 

som,  far  different  would  have  been  the  first  impressions 
of  his  character.  While  moral  distinctions  are  faint  as 
the  first  dawn  of  morning,  the  mind  cannot  bear  the  full 
effulgence  that  beams  from  the  justice  of  God.  Care- 
fully examine  what  prejudices  on  this  sacred  subject, 
thus  derived,  still  remain.  There  are,  perhaps,  many 
such  which  interpose  a  dark  cloud  between  you  and  your 
Heavenly  Father. 

Yet  there  are  some  prejudices  of  childhood  which  we 
would  not  remove.  If  the  early  loved  and  lost  are  excel- 
lent even  to  perfection,  so  let  them  remain.  Who,  with 
unhallo\ved  hand,  would  tear  away  the  veil  ?  If  your 
mother  was  better  than  any  other  mother,  your  home 
more  comfortable,  your  garden  more  beautiful,  or  even 
your  own  dog  the  most  faithful,  it  is  well.  Memory  will 
there  linger  with  delight,  so  long  as  this  world  is  your 
dwelling-place. 

Prejudices  imbibed  from  parents  and  teachers.  Al- 
most the  whole  of  your  knowledge  comes  under  this 
denomination.  You  have  taken  it  from  others  without 
examination,  and  it  is  natural  and  right  that  it  should  be 
so.  Weak,  dependent  youth  must  be  kept  in  lead- 
ing-strings; but  when  years  have  given  maturity  and 
strength,  the  bounding  spirit  frees  itself.  Prejudices, 
venerable  from  antiquity,  are  often  fondly  cherished, 
possessing  a  poetical  beauty,  of  which  philosophy  in 
vain  attempts  to  rob  them.  Many  prejudices  derived 
from  parents,  it  would  be  almost  sacrilegious  to  destroy ; 
such  are  those  of  home  and  country. 

But  each  human  being  has  an  individual,  moral,  and 
intellectual  existence,  and  must  think,  reason,  judge,  and 
act  for  itself,  as  an  accountable  moral  agent.  It  be- 
comes, then,  a  solemn  duty,  to  divest  yourselves  of  those 


200 

prejudices  which  dim  the  intellect  and  obscure  the  right 
and  the  wrong ,  which  should  ever  shine  out  in  as  clear 
and  luminous  contrast  as  the  stars  upon  a  wintry  sky. 

Some  superstitious  prejudices,  handed  down  from  one 
generation  to  another,  are  merely  absurd  ;  every  one  can 
laugh  at  them,  and  yet  be  more  or  less  affected  by  them. 
Not  the  school-girl  alone,  but  many  a  wise  and  strong- 
minded  man,  will  turn  away  with  anxious  look  from  the 
crescent  moon,  as  she  lightly  sails  in  the  eastern  horizon, 
if  the  first  glance  of  her  be  caught  over  the  left  shoul- 
der. The  folly  of  this  superstition  is  readily  acknow- 
ledged, yet  there  are  few  who  have  heard  in  their  child- 
hood that  this  was  ominous  of  evil,  who  have  not  a 
preference  for  seeing  her  pale  majesty  peering  over  the 
right  shoulder,  although  the  next  hour,  or  even  the  next 
moment,  it  may  be  forgotten. 

So  it  is  with  Friday,  poor  unlucky  Friday,  from  time 
immemorial  under  the  ban  of  prejudice.  Many  carry 
through  life  an  absolute  dread  of  beginning  any  impor- 
tant undertaking  on  this  unfortunate  day.  They  may 
have  been  told  there  was  one,  who,  despising  this  super- 
stition,—  a  bold  adventurous  mariner,  —  purposely  com- 
menced building  a  ship  on  Friday,  launched  it  on  Fri- 
day, named  it  Friday,  and  sailed  from  port  on  Friday ; 
—  and  the  consequence,  —  it  was  lost,  presumptuous 
captain  and  all !  Doubtless  this  is  the  invention  of  some 
would-be  wise  one,  to  perpetuate  this  silly  superstition. 

The  ill-omen  that  accompanies  the  breaking  of  a  look- 
ing-glass has  saved  thousands  of  them  from  destruction, 
and  was  probably  invented  by  some  cunning  housewife, 
to  secure  the  valued  piece  of  furniture  from  rough  hand- 
ling by  careless  servants.  These,  and  sundry  other 
foolish  superstitions,  are  harmless  matters  of  sport  to 


PREJUDICE.  201 

instructed  philosophic  minds,  to  which  they  nevertheless 
cling  with  surprising  tenacity.  There  are  other  super- 
stitions long  maintaining  their  tyranny  of  fear  over  the 
youthful  mind.  How  powerful,  how  mysterious,  are 
these  influences !  Shadows  have  been  cast  over  life, 
by  tales  told  at  the  nursery  fireside,  or  during  stolen 
visits  to  the  kitchen  chimney-corner. 

And  in  after  years,  what  witchery  held  the  listening 
circle  of  staring  school-girls  spellbound,  while  the 
graphic  narrator  of  ghost-stories  made  the  heart  thrill 
with  mingled  fear  and  delight.  So  felt  Orra,  the  heroine 
of  one  of  Joanna  Baillie's  splendid  tragedies. 

"  Orra.  How,  pray!  what  fearful  thing  did  scare  him  so? 

Cathrina.     Hast  thou  ne'er  heard  the  story  of  Count  Hugo, 
His  ancestor  who  slew  the  hunter-knight? 

Orra  (eagerly).     Tell  it,  I  pray  thee. 

Mice.  Cathrina,  tell  it  not;  it  is  not  right; 

Such  stories  ever  change  her  cheerful  spirits 

To  gloomy  pensiveness;  her  rosy  bloom 

To  the  wan  color  of  a  shrouded  corse. 

(To  Orra.)     What  pleasure  is  there,  lady,  when  thy  hand, 

Cold  as  the  valley's  ice,  with  hasty  grasp 

Seizes  on  her  who  speaks,  while  thy  shrunk  form, 

Cowering,  and  shivering,  stands  with  keen-turned  ear 

To  catch  what  follows  of  the  pausing  tale? 

Orra.  And  let  me  cow'ring  stand,  and  be  my  touch 

The  valley's  ice;  tkere  is  a  pleasure  in  it. 

Alice.  Say'st  thou,  indeed,  there  is  a  pleasure  in  it? 

Orra.  Yea,  when  the  cold  blood  shoots  through  every  vein; 

When  every  hair's  pit  on  my  shrunken  skin 
A  knotted  knowl  becomes,  and  to  mine  ears 
Strange  inward  sounds  awake,  and  to  mine  eyes 
Rush  stranger  tears,  there  is  a  joy  in  fear. 
Tell  it,  Cathrina,  for  the  life  within  me 
Beats  thick,  and  stirs  to  hear  it.:! 

How  hard  it  is  for  cool,  sober  reason  to  overcome 
these  phantoms  of  prejudice!  it  grapples  with  them,  and 
they  are  overthrown,  but  not  vanquished  until  after  long 
and  severe  struggles. 


202  THE  YOUNG  LADY^S  HOME. 

But  far  more  hurtful  are  the  tangible  prejudices 
against  nations,  sects,  parties,  and  individuals,  derived 
from  high  authority.  Here,  indeed,  our  opinions  are 
as  two  grains  of  wheat  in  two  bushels  of  the  chaff  of 
prejudice.  Many  years  since,  when  party  strife  ran 
high,  a  writing-master  gave  his  pupils,  for  a  copy  in  their 
writing-books,  the  following  climax :  — 

"Deist,  Atheist,  Democrat,  Devil." 

If  prejudices  are  thus  sedulously  infused  into  the 
fountains  of  knowledge,  the  streams  must  flow  forth 
tinctured  with  bitterness. 

The  respect  due  to  superiors  does  not  involve  the 
necessity  of  adopting  their  hurtful  prejudices.  The 
law  of  benevolence,  superior  to  every  other  law,  for- 
bids it, —  "  Love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself." 

Besides,  blind  prejudice  cramps  and  degrades  the  un- 
derstanding as  well  as  the  heart.  The  "semi-civilized 
nations  of  the  East,  bound  by  the  adamantine  chains 
of  caste,  reject  all  innovations  and  improvements, 
although  they  might  thereby  be  relieved  from  the  op- 
pression and  suffering  which  they  endure.  The  Chi- 
nese remain,  from  generation*  to  generation,  imitative 
and  ingenious;  but,  fettered  by  prejudice,  they  rarely 
adopt  the  improvements  of  other  nations.  The  Turks 
seemed  by  their  religion  and  civil  polity  as  impregna- 
bly  fortified  against  "the  march  of  mind,"  as  their 
beautiful  Golden  Horn  is  against  a  foreign  foe.  The 
wonderful  genius  of  the  present  Sultan  has  exercised 
its  gigantic  strength  in  levelling  these  barriers;  more 
has  been  thus  accomplished  by  his  single  might,  than 
had  been  effected  by  all  other  Moslem  minds  since  the 
days  of  Mahomet. 


PREJUDICE.  203 

The  prejudices  of  individuals,  in  the  same  manner, 
prevent  that  range  of  thought,  that  expansion  of  the  un- 
derstanding, in  which  an  emancipated  mind  rejoices. 

Prejudices  derived  from  books.  More  weight  is  at- 
tached, and  firmer  credence  given,  to  what  is  printed, 
than  to  what  is  orally  communicated.  No  little  child 
doubts  what  he  has  read  in  a  book.  "  Why,  I  have 
seen  it  in  print !"  is  no  uncommon  assertion  to  prove 
that  a  thing  is  true.  The  very  wood-cuts  scattered 
about  the  nursery  may  give  lasting  prejudices.  Some 
pictures,  not  designed  for  children,  are  most  unlucky 
caricatures,  indelibly  fixing  ludicrous  associations  in 
the  memory.  "  In  a  picture^pf  the  temptation  of  Eve, 
Fuseli  has  put  on  the  serpent  the  head  of  a  young 
man  with  wings.  The  reptile  is  there  the  size  of  a 
boa-constrictor,  smiling  to  fascinate,  and  twisting  round 
the  fatal  tree.  With  the  same  degree  of  attention  to 
literal  construction,  such  painters,  if  they  intended  to 
represent  a  scene  in  the  land  of  Canaan,  might  charac- 
terize it,  probably  with  equal  truth,  by  a  river  of  milk, 
and  another  of  honey,  with  whatever  else  might  in  their 
ideas  add  to  the  effect."  Almost  every  child  in  our 
country  has  been /enlightened  on  the  subject  of  the 
temptation,  by  a  similar  design,  with  the  explanatory 
couplet, — 

"In  Adam's  fall 
We  sinned  all;" 

which,  by  the  way,  modern  theologians  have  discov- 
ered to  be  as  heterodox  in  doctrine,  as  its  illustration 
is  apochryphal.  Another  fanciful,  or  rather  matter-of- 
fact  illustration,  represents  the  prophet  Isaiah,  with 
his  tongue  extended,  while  a  large-winged  angel,  with 
a  pair  of  immense  tongs,  is  touching  it  with  a  coal. 


204 

Sacrilegious  as  such  illustrations  are,  yet  they  abound, 
filling  the  memory  with  images  that  no  effort  of  the 
will  can  obliterate.  Many  of  the  nursery-books  sub- 
stituted in  lieu  of  Mother  Goose's  Melodies,  and  Torn 
Thumb,  give  gloomy  views  of  human  life,  spreading 
a  dark  pall  over  infant  hope.  The  little  hymns,  about 
the  dark  grave,  the  deep,  cold  pit-hole,  where  babies 
are  so  pathetically  represented  as  lying  in  dreary  soli- 
tude, add  tenfold  to  the  natural  dread  of  death.  It  is 
dangerous  at  this  early  period  to  summon  terror  to  the 
aid  of  religion.  How  much  more  beautiful  —  beautiful 
in  truth  as  well  as  poetry  —  is  that  well-known  hymn  of 
Mrs.  Oilman's,  beginning, —  "Mother,  how  still  the 
baby  lies !" 

Who  does  not  wish  that  her  infant  imagination 
might  have  been  gladdened,  and  her  infant  reason 
satisfied,  with  such  a  view  of  death?  With  more  ad- 
vanced childhood  come  the  story-books,  from  whence 
so  many  false  notions  of  human  life  are  derived. 
The  reward  of  virtue,  and  the  punishment  of  vice,  are 
described  as  invariably  enjoyed  and  suffered  in  this  life  ; 
or  worse,  the  pleasures  of  sense  are  set  up  as  idols  for 
the  full  heart's  first  worship. 

Then,  the  enchantress's  spell  of  romance  held  you, 
not  in  durance  vile,  but  in  fancy-land, —  lovely,  beauti- 
ful fancy-land  ;  looking  from  its  fascinating  realms  upon 
the  world  around  you,  even  the  most  elevating  and  use- 
ful pursuits  of  the  beings  of  real  life  were  disgustful. 
No  moated  castles  and  gallant  knights,  as  of  olden 
times.  No  Almacks,  no  royalty,  not  even  the  hope 
of  a  countess's  coronet,  gilds  the  future.  Your  own 
country  seems  a  rude,  inelegant  corner  of  creation,  the 
poorest  possible  field  for  refined  romance. 


PREJUDICE.  205 

History  -and  poetry  implant  their  prejudices.  War, 
painted  by  genius,  has  a  glory  not  easily  dissipated. 
Strange,  that  the  timid,  shrinking  nature  of  woman 
should  delight  in  the  recital  of  deeds,  the  sight  of  which 
would  freeze  her  heart's  blood ! 

Military  greatness,  in  this  age  of  nobler  aspirations, 
must  be  cast  down  from  the  high  pedestal  where  it  has 
so  long  been  worshipped.  Ambition  has  a  lofty  look 
and  noble  bearing,  as  poetry  delineates  him  ;  but  rob 
him  of  the  mask  and  graceful  drapery  in  which  she  has 
enveloped  him,  and  often  he  stands  forth  —  contempt- 
ible selfishness. 

Each  historian,  too,  has  his  peculiar  prejudices ;  ac- 
cording to  one,  Oliver  Cromwell  is  a  patriot,  almost  a 
demigod,  while  many  more  represent  him  a  villain,  an 
arch-fiend.  Looking  at  the  vast  array  of  prejudices 
which  have  thus  usurped  dominion  over  the  human 
mind,  perhaps  you  are  ready  to  exclaim  with  Pilate,— 
"What  is  truth?" 

Selfish  prejudices.  Their  name  is  Legion.  How 
readily  we  turn  what  we  call  in  our  pride  "the  tele- 
scope of  truth,"  to  magnify  or  diminish,  as  suits  our 
self-love!  Frivolous  pursuits,  unattainable  pleasures, 
difficulties  to  be  encountered,  enemies  to  be  overcome, 
how  mighty  they  appear!  Reverse  the  tube.  The 
more  noble,  the  philanthropic,  the  patriotic  pursuits  of 
the  good,  their  excellences  of  character,  the  sacred  in- 
terests of  others,  how  insignificant  they  seem !  "  The 
reason  why  we  so  seldom  carry  on  the  happy  vivacity 
of  youth  into  mature  age  is,  that  we  form  to  ourselves 
a  higher  standard  of  enjoyment  than  we  can  realize, 
and  that  our  ppssions  gradually  fasten  on  certain  favorite 
objects,  whioh,  in  proportion  to  their  magnitude,  are 
18 


206 


of  rare  occurrence,  and  for  the   most  part  out  of  oui 
reach." 

Instead  of  thus  wasting  life  in  grasping  at  shadows, 
look  at  your  real  condition ;  consider  its  capabilities 
for  happiness  and  for  doing  good.  C'est  le  premier  pas 
qui  coute.  Give  up  to-day  some  darling  prejudice  to 
which  you  have  fondly  clung,  and  to-morrow  another, 
and  still  another  will  be  vanquished.  Be  not  disheart- 
ened. Be  candid,  be  sincere,  be  in  earnest,  and  you  have 
the  promise  of  a  holy  Guide,  who  will  lead  you  into 
"  all  truth."  And  if  the  weakness  of  a  spirit  enshrouded 
in  clay  shut  out  some  glorious  truths  from  dwellers  on 
earth,  the  promise  shall  be  fully  accomplished  when  you 
drop  this  mortal  covering,  and  pass  from  the  shore  of 
death  immediately  into  that  world  where  error  and  pre- 
judice are  unknown. 


CHAPTER  XXFV 

CONSISTENCY  OF  CHARACTER. 

"Thy  hopes,  are  they  steadfast,  and  holy,  and  high? 
Are  they  built  on  a  rock  ?     Are  they  raised  to  the  sky? 
Thy  deep  secret  yearnings, — O,  whither  point  they? 
To  the  triumphs  of  earth,  to  the  toys  of  a  day? 
Thy  friendships  and  feelings,  —  doth  impulse  prevail, 
To  make  them,  and  mar  them,  as  wind  swells  the  sail? 
Thy  life's  ruling  passion,  —  thy  being's  first  aim, — 
What  are  they?  and  yield  they  contentment  or  shame? 

Miss  JEWSBUBY. 

CONSISTENCY  of  character  is  the  very  keystone  of 
the  arch,  giving  completeness  and  strength  to  all  the 
virtues. 

In  order  to  be  consistent  in  the  right  way,  you  must 
have  a  just  sense  of  the  importance  of  the  objects  at 
which  you  aim.  A  consistent  lawyer  is  one  who  ap- 
plies all  his  learning,  his  zeal  and  his  eloquence,  to 
gain  a  bad  cause  as  well  as  a  good  one.  A  consistent 
fine  lady  is  one  whose  parties  are  the  most  splendid, 
whose  dresses  are.  made  by  the  most  fashionable  mo- 
diste, whose  bonnets  are  the  perfection  of  elegance, 
whose  manners  are  as  regulated  as  her  watch,  to  suit 
all  times  and  occasions,  and  who  pays  her  bills  or  not, 
just  as  suits  her  convenience.  A  consistent  politician 
goes  all  lengths  with  party,  right  or  wrong,  even  though 
the  measures  of  his  party  tend  to  the  destruction  of  his 
country.  In  these  cases,  unity  of  purpose  produces 

(207) 


208 

consistency.  It  therefore  becomes  of  the  utmost  con- 
sequence to  ascertain  what  is  your  aim.  The  question 
here  is,  not  what  you  know,  or  what  you  are,  but  what 
you  intend  to  be.  The  passionate  lover  of  science 
climbs  the  fearful  precipice,  and  perils  life  itself  for  a 
single  little  flower,  belonging  to  a  genus  that  is  wanting 
in  his  herbarium.  What  efforts  should  be  deemed  too 
great,  to  attain  each  flower  of  beauty  that  adorns  the 
garland  of  woman's  worth  ? 

I  know  a  lady,  —  would  that  her  modesty  would  per- 
mit me  to  name  her,  —  who  furnishes  an  admirable  ex- 
ample of  consistency  of  character. 

Jls  a  Christian,  she  has  fervent  piety,  without  the 
least  tincture  of  austerity.  She  is  liberal  and  catholic 
in  her  views  and  feelings  towards  other  denominations, 
and  at  the  same  time  maintains  a  strong  and  wholesome 
attachment  to  the  church  to  which  she  belongs.  With 
genuine  meekness  and  humility,  she  possesses  self-re- 
spect, and  does  not  disclaim  the  respect  of  others. 
Her  cheerfulness  springs  from  good  health  and  a  good 
conscience ;  she  is  never  light-minded  and  frivolous. 
In  her  most  sober  moments,  she  is  not  gloomy.  She 
has  quickness  of  perception  to  discern  whatever  is  sin- 
ful in  others,  and  moral  courage  to  warn  and  reprove, 
without  severity  or  bitterness  towards  the  offender. 
Her  charity  is  open,  but  not  ostentatious.  Possessing 
uncommon  disinterestedness,  her  motives  are  often  mis- 
understood by  the  selfish,  and  oftener  misrepresented  ; 
yet  she  submits  to  reproach  without  a  murmur ;  though 
naturally  extremely  susceptible  to  public  opinion,  she 
has  fortified  her  mind  to  meet  injustice.  She  yields  to 
the  world  when  it  would  be  unwise  to  differ ;  but  mak  *f» 


CONSISTENCY    OF    CHARACTER.  209 

no  compromise  that  involves  a  sacrifice  of  principle. 
Although  uncommonly  active  in  doing  good  to  all  within 
her  sphere  of  usefulness,  she  neglects  not  the  culture  of 
that  personal,  spiritual  religion,  which  results  from  devo- 
tion and  close  habitual  introspection. 

This  lady's  intellectual  character  has  been  mostly 
formed  by  self-education ;  the  foundation,  however, 
must  have  been  well  laid ;  in  perfecting  the  superstruc- 
ture, the  ornamental  part  has  not  been  neglected,  though 
it  is  rather  of  the  simple,  chaste  Doric  order,  than  the 
more  elaborate  Corinthian.  She  is  learned,  /without  the 
slightest  approach  to  pedantry.  Her  memory  is  so  tena- 
cious, that  she  is  minute  and  circumstantial,  but  not 
tedious.  The  expressions  she  uses  in  conversation  are 
so  clear  and  correct,  that  you  become  possessed  of  her 
ideas,  scarcely  perceiving  the  medium  through  which 
they  have  been  communicated.  Her  imagination  is 
vivid  and  lively,  but  sobered  and  chastened  by  a  strong 
discriminating  judgment.  Hers  is  not  a  masculine  mind; 
it  is  peculiarly,  sweetly  feminine,  so  that  her  learning 
and  her  superiority  are  pardoned  by  the  other  sex ; 
they  set  so  gracefully  and  becomingly,  that  they  never 
obtrude  themselves  into  notice. 

My  amiable  friend's  manners  are  "  the  outward  and 
visible  sign"  of  her  noble  character.  Perhaps,  in  these 
free  and  easy  days,  they  may  be  thought  too  formal ; 
when  dignity  was  considered  essential,  they  would  have 
been  admired  as  a  model.  She  is  self-possessed,  with- 
out that  impudent  assurance  which  provokes  censure 
from  its  total  indifference  to  public  opinion,  and  wounds 
the  beholder's  self-esteem.  In  her  dignity  there  i&  no 
haughtiness  ;  the  most  timid  and  bashful  girl  would  seek 
18* 


210 


shelter  under  her  superiority,  sure  of  that  kind  consid- 
erateness  which  the  highly  gifted  and  naturally  modest 
ever  show  to  shrinking  diffidence.  The  grace  of  this 
lady's  manners  is  not  altogether  the  borrowed  grace  of 
art  that  is  termed  elegance ;  her  heart,  full  of  love  and 
good- will,  diffuses  kindness  and  unction  over  her  whole 
demeanor. 

In  her  intercourse  with  the  world,  and  in  her  family, 
she  has  all  the  prudence  necessary  for  the  safe  conduct 
of  affairs.  Her  economy  is  systematic,  without  a  touch 
of  meanness.  She  knows  the  value  of  wealth  for  the 
comfort  it  secures,  and  as  a  means  of  bestowing  bene- 
fits ;  her  mind  is  too  noble  for  avarice  to  find  there  a 
dwelling-place. 

Her  decision  of  character  prevents  her  actions  from 
being  the  sport  of  circumstances.  Her  generosity  is 
far  removed  from  prodigality ;  she  has  the  courage  to 
say  "  no  "  to  the  most  earnest  solicitation  to  a  popular 
charity,  if  her  judgment  does  not  fully  approve,  or  her 
funds  have  been  consecrated  to  some  other  use.  In- 
dustrious herself,  she  is  careful  that  her  family  imitate 
the  example  ;  yet  their  hours  of  recreation  she  strives  to 
make  agreeable,  by  joining  cordially  in  promoting  inno- 
cent hilarity. 

This  sketch  might  be  thought  incomplete,  if  nothing 
were  said  of  the  momentous  business  of  the  toilet.  Our 
friend  is  not  neglectful  of  her  apparel ;  her  dress  is  al- 
ways scrupulously  neat ;  but  if  it  does  not  fit  with  the 
trim  precision  of  a  milliner's  doll,  she  would  be  satisfied. 
She  would  not  willingly  offend  the  eye  of  good  taste  in 
the  choice  of  colors;  she  would  prefer  being  in  the 
fashion  to  being  out  of  it ;  yet  it  is  evident  that  no  time 


CONSISTENCY    OF    CHARACTER.  211 

has  been  taken  from  other  duties  to  attend  to  this,  and 
that  dress  is  not  the  first,  second,  and  third  thing  in  her 
mind. 

Being  thus  beautifully  consistent  herself,  is  not  this 
lady  a  severe  censor  upon  those  \vho  are  less  so  ?  In 
example  she  may  be,  but  in  words,  never.  The  law  of 
kindness  dwells  upon  her  lips,  and  the  bright  side  of 
character  seems  ever  present  to  her  generous  mind. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

MARRIAGE. 
**The  last  ungathered  rose  on  our  ancestral  tree." — HOLMES. 

"WERE  you  ever  in  love,  Aunty?" 

The  lady  to  whom  this  startling  question  was  ad- 
dressed had  seen  at  least  fifty  summers.  Her  sweet 
and  tranquil  face  had  been  ruffled  by  few  storms,  yet 
there  was  just  that  shade  of  pensiveness  which  gives  in- 
terest to  such  a  countenance.  A  blush  mantled  the 
still  rounded  cheeks,  and  shot  over  her  fair  high  fore- 
head, as  she  replied,  — "  That  is  a  question  seldom 
asked  of  an  old  maid  of  forty-nine ." 

"Forgive  me,  dearest  Aunt,  but  answer  me,"  said 
Isabella,  throwing  her  arms  around  Aunt  Susan's  neck, 
much  to  the  detriment  of  her  snow-white  plaited  ruffles. 

Aunt  Susan.  I  will  do  both  on  one  condition,  —  that 
you  tell  me  what  you  have  been  thinking  about  this  last 
half-hour ;  for,  even  by  the  dim  light  of  the  grate,  your 
countenance  betrayed  that  the  subject  was  one  of  intense 
interest. 

Is.  Indeed !  Well,  then,  it  is  a  great  secret  to-day, 
but  to-morrow  everybody  will  know  it.  Geraldine 

M- was  married  this  morning  to  that  insufferable 

coxcomb,  W . 

(212) 


MARRIAGE.  '  213 

Jlunt  S.  What !  that  very  fashionable  young  man, 
whom  you  extolled  last  winter  as  so  elegant,  so  inter- 
esting ? 

Is.  I  might  have  been  silly  enough,  then,  to  think 
he  was  interesting ;  but  I  never  should  have  run  away 
with  him,  as  Geraldine  has  done,  in  opposition  to  her 
father. 

Jlunt  S.  And  you,  Isabella,  were  at  the  marriage ! 
That  accounts  for  your  agitation  and  hurry  this  morning. 

Is.  Yes,  Aunty,  I  had  the  honor  of  being  bride's-maid 
to  the  happy  couple ;  only  two  other  persons  were 
present,  and,  alas!  there  was  no  groomsman.  I  sup- 
pose, had  it  not  been  for  a  promise  of  long  standing, 
there  would  have  been  no  bride's-maid  either.  This, 
you  remember,  is  the  second  time  I  have  had  to  officiate 
in  this  manner.  Geraldine  made  a  match,  all  for  love, 
in  opposition  to  the  wishes  of  every  friend  she  has  on 

earth.  Poor  Mrs.  M will  die  with  vexation,  for  he 

is  not  worth  a  sous.  They  told  her  long  ago,  father, 
mother,  sister,  brother,  and  all,  down  to  the  fourteenth 
cousin,  that  they  would  renounce  her  for  ever,  if  she 

married  W .  Now  there  is  romance  for  you.  A 

very  different  affair  from  Clara  Wilton's  prim,  unsenti- 
mental, humdrum  wedding. 

Jlunt  S.  Different  indeed !  That  was  every  way  a 
suitable  match. 

Is.  Chacune  a  son  gout.  I  have  always  thought 
Clara's  the  most  commonplace,  dull,  matter-of-fact 
courtship  and  marriage  that  ever  happened,  as  the 

saying  is.  Mr.  G ,  fifteen  years  older  than  Clara, 

formed  upon  the  old  Sir  Charles  Grandison  school,  so" 
accustomed  to  debating  in  Congress,  that  he  always 
speaks  as  though  he  had  the  floor,  and  would  not  be  in- 


'214:  THE  YOUNG  LADY's  HOME. 

terrupted.  And  as  for  Clara,  she  is  a  good  girl  ;  but 
now  I  think  of  it,  the  very  counterpart  of  Miss  Byron. 

Aunt  S.  The  disparity  in  age,  of  which  you  com- 
plain, is  nothing  at  all. 

Is.  Well,  Aunty,  we  will  waive  that  discussion,  and 
even  leave  Geraldine's  affair  for  the  whole  town  to 
discuss  to-morrow  morning,  and  take  up  the  pre- 
vious question.  Were  you  ever  in  love?  But,  dea* 
Aunt,  I  am  a  naughty  child,  and  don't  gratify  my  curi- 
osity at  the  expense  of  your  feelings. 

Jiunt  S.  Years  have  done  their  kindly  work  of  heal- 
ing ;  I  had  almost  said  of  obliteration.  Yet  I  can  re- 
member enough  to  satisfy  you,  and  can  relate  with  calm- 
ness, I  trust,  what  has  never  before  passed  my  lips. 
Let  me  see,  all  stories  begin, — "  Once  there  was" 

Is.     There  was  a  young  lady  once  in  love. 

Jiunt  S.  And  only  once,  Isabella.  I  had  just  re- 
turned from  school,  when  I  became  acquainted  with 
Leslie.  For  several  years  he  was  a  frequent  visiter  at 
the  house  of  my  guardian. 

Is.     And  you  fell  in  love  with  him,  Aunt  Susan  ? 

Jiunt  S.  (with  dignity.}  By  no  means.  My  affec- 
tions were  not  so  easily  won.  Avoid  prudish  reserve, 
and  affected  indifference  ;  but  sully  not  the  purity  of 
your  young  heart  by  carrying  it  in  your  hand,  ready  to 
offer  to  the  first  man  whom  you  encounter.  I  accepted 
Leslie's  attentions,  and  a  simple  liking  grew  to  a  strong 
affection,  when  he  professed  the  same  for  me ;  but  I 
must  shorten  this  part  of  my  story. 

Is.  O  no,  no,  I  wish  to  hear  all  about  it.  Did  he 
propose  ? 

Jiunt  S.  He  did,  and,  after  but  little  delay,  was  ac- 
cepted. 


MARRIAGE.  215 

Is.     But  why  any  delay,  if  you  loved  him  ? 

Aunt  S.     Nature,  strong,  all-powerful  nature. 

Is.  Art,  all-powerful  art.  Were  you  not  a  little 
prudish  in  those  days  } 

Jlunt  S.  At  the  lisk  of  seeming  sentimental,  I  must 
answer,  in  the  words  of  my  favorite  poet :  — 

"Love's  lightest,  fondest  weakness,  maiden  shame; 
It  was  not  pride  that  hid  my  bosom's  flame." 

Is.     But  I  interrupt  your  story. 

Aunt  S.  I  have  little  to  tell.  The  day  was  set 
for  our  marriage.  Leslie  had  wealth,  and  the  world 
pronounced  him  every  inch  a  gentleman  ;  but,  alas !  he 
was  totally  destitute  of  religious  principle.  In  a  con- 
versation with  my  brother,  your  respected  father,  a  few 
weeks  before  the  time  appointed  for  our  marriage,  Les- 
lie betrayed  his  opinions;  he  was  an  infidel.  You 
would  not  wish  me  to  describe  the  agony  that  this  dis- 
covery produced.  I  will  only  add,  that,  after  mature 
deliberation,  I  wrote  to  him,  that  until  his  prejudices 
were  removed,  and  his  opinions  based  upon  revealed 
truth,  I  could  never  be  his.  Such  an  answer  as  he 
wrote !  it  would  chill  you  with  horror ;  he  ridiculed  my 
weakness,  and  all  that  is  sacred  and  holy.  Can  I  be 
sufficiently  grateful  for  that  protecting  Providence  which 
saved  me  from  uniting  myself  with  one  who  might  have 
destroyed  my  happiness  in  this  life,  and  perilled  that  of 
my  soul  hereafter  ? 

Is.     Did  he  ever  marry,  Aunt  ? 

Aunt  S.  He  did,  and  broke  the  heart  of  a  lovely 
woman,  who  lies  in  an  untimely  grave.  Unrestrained 
by  principle,  and  disappointed  in  schemes  for  political 
distinction,  b  i  resorted  to  gambling  for  excitement,  and 


216  THE    YOUNG    LADY5S    HOME. 

intemperance  for  forgetfulness  ;  he  died,  and  it  is  not 
forbidden  to  weep  even  over  an  infidel's  grave.  These 
melancholy  reminiscences  have  brought  others  to  my 
mind,  which  may  serve  as  warnings  to  my  sanguine 
Isabella.  One  of  my  early  friends,  much  resembling 
yourself,  married  a  weak-minded,  vain  man,  whose  self- 
love  was  so  much  stronger  than  his  love  for  her,  that 
she  has  been  subjected  to  continual  mortification.  Not- 
withstanding her  vivacity  and  gayety  in  youth,  she  is  a 
highly  respectable  and  talented  woman ;  but  her  hus- 
band everywhere  makes  himself  ridiculous,  so  that  she 
cannot  be  very  happy,  at  home  or  abroad. 

Is.     Never  fear  for  me,  Aunt ;  I  detest  a  fool. 

Aunt  S.  But  the  glare  of  dress  and  fashion  might 
blind  you  as  it  has  done  Geraldine. 

Is.  I  confess  I  was  blinded  for  a  short  time ;  but 

W is  not  an  absolute  fool.  To  be  on  the  safe 

side,  I  resolve  that  I  never  will  marry  a  fashionable 
dandy. 

Aunt  S.  Poor  Amelia  Saybury!  She  was  the 
heiress  of  our  circle.  Her  embroidered  satins,  her 
splendid  muff  and  tippet,  and,  more  than  all,  her  beauti- 
ful set  of  pearls;  what  envy  they  excited!  She  mar- 
ried a  man  of  fortune,  which,  added  to  her  own,  seemed 
inexhaustible.  They  were  excessively  extravagant,  and 
squandered  it  all ;  and  now  as  he  has  no  profession, 
nor  any  kind  of  business,  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  how 
they  are  supported.  It  is  said,  they  are  reduced  to  the 
most  distressing  poverty. 

Is.  But  you  would  not  infer  from  this,  that  every 
man  should  have  a  profession,  or  employment. 

Aunt  S.  In  our  country,  even  a  man  of  wealth 
should  have  some  occupation  ;  not  that  he  may  increase 


MARRIAGE.  217 

his  wealth,  but  to  render  him  more  useful  to  the  world, 
and  more  prepared  for  the  vicissitudes  which  all  have 
reason  to  apprehend. 

Is.  I  never  will  marry  an  old  curmudgeon,  who 
would  grudge  me  every  dollar.  Indeed,  I  would  not 
marry  an  old  man,  whatever  might  be  his  rank,  talents, 
or  wealth. 

Jiunt  S.  Even  at  the  risk  of  being  that  despised 
creature,  an  old  maid ! 

Is.  That  does  not  alarm  me  at  all.  Who  is  more 
beloved  than  Aunt  Susan  ?  And  you  surely  are  infinitely 
more  happy  than  any  of  your  companions  who  married. 

Aunt  S.  You  speak  extravagantly,  Isabella.  I  am 
more  contented  and  cheerful  than  many  of  my  married 
friends;  but  I  know  some,  wno  are  united  to  men  of 
sense  and  worth,  who  enjoy  that  assistance  in  life's  rough 
journey,  and  that  protection  and  guidance,  which  are 
very  important  to  our  feeble,  timid  sex.  I  would  not 
have  you  suppose,  my  dear,  that  I  undervalue  what  I  do 
not  possess. 

Is.  There  is  one  frightful  fault  that  you  have  not 
mentioned,  —  a  violent  temper.  I  was  once  visiting  at  a 
house  where  every  one  stood  in  mortal  dread  of  the  ty- 
rannical master.  His  poor  wife  trembled  when  she 
heard  his  step  upon  the  threshold  ;  the  children  ran  and 
hid  themselves ;  and  the  servant  who  opened  the  door 
durst  not  look  \vithin  a  yard  of  his  countenance.  When 
he  entered  the  room  where  we  were  sitting,  the  poor 
woman  cast  a  furtive  glance  to  know  what  mood  he  was 
in,  and  when  she  saw  the  flush  and  frown  upon  his  ugly 
face,  she  grew  pale,  but  endeavoured  to  smile.  Such  a 
lugubrious  smile!  I  have  heard  of  the  smile  of  a  mile- 
stone.—  hers  looked  more  like  the  smile  of  a  grave- 
19 


218 


stone.  I  resolved  then,  that  I  would  keep  out  of  the 
way  of  such  torments. 

Jlunt  S.  But  even  worse  than  the  temper  you  have 
described  is  the  sullen,  dogged,  morose  disposition  that 
never  breaks  out  into  sunshine.  You  may  sometimes 
expect  generosity  from  the  passionate  man,  and  occa- 
sionally good-humor ;  but  in  this  case,  you  have  only 
dull,  sluggish  indifference,  however  much  you  may  need 
sympathy  and  kindness. 

Is.  Well,  Aunty,  there  are  as  many  obstacles  in  the 
way  of  matrimony  as  the  damsel  found  who  went  for  the 
talking  bird,  singing  tree,  and  golden  water. 

Aunt  S.  And  I  cannot  tell  you  of  any  enchantress's 
spell  against  them.  Prudence  and  Principle,  two  very 
serviceable  handmaidens,  may  guard  you  on  the  right 
and  left,  and  yet  you  may  not  escape  all  evils. 

Is.  I  fear  I  should  make  but  a  fickle  fiancee.  The 
moment  I  discovered  any  odious  trait  in  a  man's  charac- 
ter, I  should  say,  Excuse  me,  Sir,  and  be  off. 

Jlunt  8.  Be  careful,  then,  how  you  enter  into  such 
an  engagement.  To  break  fealty  without  the  most 
urgent  reasons  proves  either  contemptible  weakness  of 
mind,  heartlessness,  want  of  delicate  sensibility,  or  ol> 
tuseness  of  moral  feeling.  I  hope,  Isabella,  you  will  not 
be  so  dishonorable  nor  so  unprincipled. 

Is.  Don't  speak  so  seriously.  I  believe  the  best 
way  is  not  to  trouble  myself  about  the  matter. 

Jlunt  S.  You  are  right ;  and  think  as  little  about  it, 
too,  as  possible.  Make  yourself  worthy  of  love,  and 
you  will  be  contented  in  any  situation.  You  have  now 
to  set  yourself  earnestly  about  improving  your  own  char- 
acter, lest  you  bring  some  of  the  evils  upon  another 
which  you  wish  to  avoid  yourself. 


MARRIAGE.  219 

Is.  Well,  with  the  terror  of  bad  husbands  before  my 
eyes,  I  shall,  at  least,  not  marry  without  the  consent  of 
my  father,  and  the  approbation  of  my  prudent  aunt. 
Let  me  see  (holding  up  her  fingers  and  counting  upon 
them),  I  have  predetermined  not  to  marry,  —  First,  the 
infidel.  Secondly,  the  immoral  man.  Thirdly,  the 
silly  Narcissus,  who  would  make  me  blush  for  him  every 
moment.  Fourthly,  the  old  man,  rich  or  poor.  Fifthly, 
the  old  —  no,  the  young  curmudgeon,  for  there  are 
misers  young  and  old  ;  and  the  young  will  grow  worse 
and  worse  every  year,  till  he  will  out-Elwes  Elwes,  —  so 
I  '11  none  of  him.  Sixthly,  the  extravagant  idle  man, 
who  will  soon  be  at  his  money's  end  and  his  wit's  end. 
Seventhly,  the  furious,  passionate  tyrant.  Eighthly,  the 
morose,  sour  creature,  who  would  turn  the  cream  in  my 
coffee  by  looking  at  it.  Ninthly,  —  have  I  counted  all? 
Do  give  me  a  ninth  and  a  tenth  to  make  up  the  deca- 
logue. I  know  there  are  a  dozen  more  that  would 
come  upon  the  proscribed  list,  if  I  could  only  remember 
them. 

Aunt  S.  Don't  puzzle  yourself,  child,  to  muster  any 
more.  You  will  think  me  prejudiced,  perhaps,  in  favor 
of  my  own  condition,  because  I  seem  to  you  so  happy. 
It  is  not  so.  As  I  look  toward  the  downhill  of  life,  it 
is  a  melancholy  thought,  that  I  am  alone ;  that  I  do  not 
hold  the  first  place  in  any  human  heart. 

Is.  (fondly  embracing  her).  But  you  have  the  love 
of  everybody,  dear  Aunt  Susan,  and  a  home  wherever 
you  are ;  next  to  my  father,  I  love  you  better  than  any- 
body in  the  wide  world. 

The  next  week,  a  little  packet  was  handed  to  Isabella 
by  Aunt  Susan's  waiting-maid.  It  contained  an  affec- 


THE  Yorxo  LADY'S  HOME. 


*ote,  intimating  that  her  dear  niece  had 

iaKM£  them,  a  touch  of  tin 
•MI  endeavored  to  portray  for  her  benefit  in  the 


STORY  OF  AGXES  FLEMING, 


T  *      1      '   1  Fiji      Thesonhad 

with  tempered  bcdfiancy,  and  now  a  soft  and  lovely  twi- 
ngjht  8MC.c.mlSj,  mvnng  all  to  come  forth  to  revel  in  the 
bland  and  balmy  atmosphere  of  Jane,  Voices  of  mirth 
are  on  the  breeze,  that  tefl  of  rosy  health  and  joyous 
Bat  who  is  she,  lone  watcher  in  that  snail 
Eeriest  chamber?  A  bedstead  stands  in  one 

fines  spread  over  k  do  not  correspond  with  the  plain 
foraibne  of  the  apartment.  Here  lies  « the  only  son  of 
his  mother,  and  she  is  a  widow."  Bat  why  goes  he  not 

i  that  covers  his  face,  and  read  the  answer  there, 
lookout  opon  morning's 
TheddMteqpdimi 


no  more  be  fifted.     Tne  ear,  so  readj  to  listen  to  the 
sfcghtest  soond  of  joy  or  grief  from  that  loved  mother,  is 

Who  can  measore  the  depth  of  agony  in  that  lonely 
mover's  htart,  as  she  gazes  on  the  remains  of  her  noble 
hoy?  How  1  i  HM  are  the  features  of  that  &ce  in 
their  calm  repose!  From  the  air  and  Wry 


k  wkh  scrapoloas  care. 


PRIDE.  221 

There  is  a  fearful  composure  in  her  manner ;  it  is  not 

the  composure  of  Christian  resignation. 

Agnes  Fleming  was  an  only  child.  A  tender  mother 
and  a  careful  nurse  watched  over  her  infancy  and  early 
childhood ;  but  when  she  left  the  nursery,  her  education 
was  entirely  given  over  to  her  father.  The  young 
Agnes,  gifted  with  a  mind  of  no  common  order,  received 
with  avidity  the  knowledge  which  her  father  poured  into 
it  from  his  own  deep,  full  fountain.  Not  only  her  intel- 
lectual culture  devolved  upon  her  father,  but  her  whole 
moral  culture.  Mrs.  Fleming  never  interfered.  Her 
husband  exercised  over  her  that  sorcery  which  the  famous 
Leonora  Galligai  was  accused  of  employing  with  Mary 
de  Medici,  namely,  the  power  which  great  minds  have 
over  weak  ones.  She  was  never  known  to  dissent  from 
him  in  opinion  ;  his  infallibility  was  unquestionable. 

The  rapid  development  and  the  astonishing  progress 
of  Agnes  encouraged  and  delighted  Mr.  Fleming;  his 
new  employment  rendered  a  life,  which  had  formerly 
been  monotonous,  varied  and  interesting.  His  own  fac- 
ulties, aroused  from  a  lethargy  which  the  indolent  habits 
of  a  man  of  wealth^  without  occupation,  had  induced, 
started  with  the  freshness,  force,  and  accumulation  of  an 
ice-bound  river  loosened  from  its  thraldom.  Agnes, 
like  the  genial  influence  of  spring,  had  freed  them  from 
their  frozen  uselessness.  Mr.  Fleming  possessed  all 
those  traits  of  character  which,  hi  the  eyes  of  the  world, 
are  most  brilliant  and  fascinating.  His  chivalrous  devo- 
tion to  woman  would  have  done  honor  to  the  most  palmy 
days  of  knight-errantry ;  and  his  graceful  courtesy,  ro- 
mantic generosity,  and  "  high  sense  of  honor,"  could 
only  have  been  equalled  by  the  chevalier  tc  sans  peur  et 
scms  reproche."  If,  however,  you  sought  for  correct 
19* 


222 


principles  as  the  foundation  of  this  character,  you  would 
seek  in  vain ;  there  lay  pride,  —  indomitable  pride. 
Wealth,  as  such,  he  despised;  family  distinction  was 
quite  another  thing.  Descended  from  a  long  line  of 
gentlemen,  who  had  possessed  station  and  rank  in  Eng- 
land, he  neither  despised,  nor  affected  to  despise,  these 
distinctions.  He  dwelt  upon  them  with  exultation  to 
Agnes;  but  it  was  not  his  intention  to  make  her  proud 
of  these  alone ;  from  her  earliest  years,  he  instilled  into 
her  mind  that  it  was  disgraceful  to  be  vicious,  that  she 
should  avoid  falsehood,  meanness,  and  every  thing  akin 
to  it,  because  they  were  beneath  the  dignity  of  human 
nature.  For  the  honor  of  her  sex,  she  must  be  refined, 
well-bred,  and  elegant ;  for  the  honor  of  her  family,  she 
must  be  intelligent,  noble-minded,  and  generous  ;  above 
all,  she  must  have  that  pride  of  character  that  would  enable 
her  to  dignify  any  station,  or  to  bear  up  under  the  frowns 
of  fate.  From  such  works  as  Pope's  Essay  on  Man  and 
Cicero's  Offices,  as  she  advanced  in  age,  he  taught  her 
morality  and  virtue.  His  plan  was  to  give  Agnes  a 
masculine  education,  without  destroying  the  sensibility 
and  delicacy  of  the  female  character  ;  perhaps  he  thought 
nature  had  done  enough  in  making  them  a  part  of  her 
physical  constitution,  and  they  therefore  needed  no  fos- 
tering care.  At  the  age  of  twelve,  she  had  read  through 
Virgil,  the  ^Eneid,  Bucolics,  Georgics,  and  all,  and 
could  recite  Eclogue  after  Eclogue  with  admirable  flu- 
ency. She  was  more  familiarly  acquainted  with  Jupiter 
and  Neptune,  Mars  and  Apollo,  Juno,  Minerva,  and 
Venus,  than  with  any  living  beings  out  of  her  own  home ; 
for  it  was  a  part  of  Mr.  Fleming's  system  to  keep  Ag- 
nes entirely  secluded  until  she  had  finished  her  education. 
To  give  vigor  to  body  and  mind,  she  was  allowed  active, 


PRIDE.  223 

and  even  athletic,  exercises.  With  her  father,  she  could 
take  long  rides  on  horseback,  play  ball,  pitch  quoits,  and 
roll  ninepins,  and  when  he  left  her  to  amuse  herself,  she 
could  climb  trees  and  rock  on  their  topmost  branches, 
and  build  bridges  over  her  favorite  little  rivulet. 

As  Agnes  increased  in  years,  she  displayed  an  inde- 
pendence of  mind,  that  would  not  have  yielded  to  any 
tutor  but  one  possessing  the  strength  and  decision  of  her 
father.  As  it  was,  they  often  disagreed,  and  their  long 
and  animated  discussions  sometimes  aroused  a  storm  of 
passion,  upon  which  the  placid  mildness  of  Mrs.  Fleming 
acted  like  oil  upon  the  tempestuous  waves. 

The  philosophical,  mathematical,  and  classical  educa- 
tion of  Agnes  had  not  entirely  destroyed  her  intuitive 
sense  of  the  beautiful  in  nature.  Her  rambles  among 
the  hills  and  woods  about  her  father's  dwelling  were  her 
greatest  pleasure ;  but  they  cherished  a  love  of  solitude 
and  reverie,  which  had  been  produced  by  being  denied 
communion  and  companionship  with  those  of  her  own 
age. 

Mr.  Fleming  was  a  firm  adherent  to  the  church  of  his 
ancestors,  although  there  were  few  of  its  members  in  the 
part  of  the  country  where  he  resided,  and  its  solemn 
services  were  there  seldom  performed.  When  Agnes 
was  about  sixteen,  her  father  mentioned  to  her  that  the 
right  reverend  bishop  of  that  diocese  would  soon  visit 
the  little  church,  about  ten  miles  distant,  for  confirmation, 
and  that  he  wished  her  to  be  prepared  for  the  holy  rite. 
Agnes  very  innocently  asked  what  preparation  was 
necessary.  The  Catechism,  the  Creed,  and  the  Lord's 
Prayer,  was  the  reply.  The  two  latter  she  knew  by 
heart ;  but  of  the  former  she  was  entirely  ignorant. 
"How  did  this  happen?"  he  exclaimed,  surprised  and 


224  THE  YOUNG  LADY's  HOME. 

half  angry  ;  he  then  remembered  that  it  was  his  own  fault, 
for  he  had  wished  to  teach  every  thing  himself.  "It  is 
strange  that  I  should  have  forgotten  it;  but  you  have 
time  enough  now  to  commit  it  to  memory,  daughter, 
and  I  wish  you  to  begin  this  very  day." 

Agnes's  mind  was  too  inquisitive  not  to  be  arrested  by 
a  study  so  new,  so  different  from  her  usual  course ;  she 
made  many  inquiries  of  her  father ;  but  they  were  an- 
swered in  such  a  way  as  to  check,  without  satisfying  her 
curiosity. 

Dressed  in  a  simple  robe  of  white,  with  her  dark  hair 
floating  upon  her  shoulders,  as  in  childhood,  Agnes  knelt 
to  take  upon  herself  those  solemn  baptismal  vows,  that 
had  remained  as  if  forgotten  by  her  sponsors. 

"  And  many  a  blooming,  many  a  lovely  cheek, 
Under  the  fear  of  God,  turns  pale  ; 
While  on  each  head  his  lawn-robed  servant 
Lays  an  apostolic  hand,  and  with  prayer 
Seals  the  covenant." 

Agnes  had  been  awed,  but  not  with  the  holy  «  fear 
of  God ;"  the  solemnity,  the  beauty,  of  the  scene  had 
excited  emotion,  but  not  religious  emotion  ;  it  was  natu- 
ral sensibility.  So  little  had  she  been  instructed  in  the 
Christian  religion  and  Christian  duty,  that  she  doubt- 
ed not  the  propriety  of  taking  upon  herself  those  solemn 
vows  which  she  was  unprepared  to  fulfil.  If  there  was 
a  pang  of  conscience  produced  by  a  glimpse  of  her  un- 
\vorthiness,  it  was  stifled  by  the  consideration,  that  she 
had  endeavored  to  be  such  as  her  father  wished  ;  he  was 
her  guide  and  her  exemplar.  She  arose  from  that  sa- 
cred service,  with  a  half-mournful,  half-joyous  feeling, 
that  she  was  no  longer  a  child. 

From  this  period,  until  Agnes  had  arrived  at  the  age 


PRIDE.  225 

of  seventeen,  Mr.  Fleming  devoted  himself,  with  more 
than  his  usual  zeal,  to  the  completion  of  that  education 
which  had  hitherto  so  gratified  his  ambition.  She  was 
mistress  of  almost  as  many  languages  as  the  learned 
Elizabeth  Smith,  and  in  mathematics  could  enjoy  New- 
ton and  Laplace.  As  for  accomplishments,  as  they  arp 
usually  termed,  Agnes  had  not  many  to  boast ;  upon  an 
old  harpsichord,  which  had  been  in  the  house  from  time 
immemorial,  she  could  play  by  ear  all  the  tunes  she  ever 
heard  her  nurse  sing,  and  that  was  the  extent  of  her 
musical  science.  Although  this  was  proof  enough  of 
genius  to  have  induced  almost  any  parent  to  cultivate 
it,  Mr.  Fleming  would  not  do  it,  because  he  must  for 
that  purpose  have  employed  a  teacher  in  the  house,  or 
spared  Agnes  from  home.  To  avoid  this,  he  had  taught 
her  the  elements  of  drawing,  with  the  rules  of  perspect- 
ive ;  but  she  had  neither  genius  nor  taste  to  pursue  the 
art ;  he  even  taught  her  to  dance,  with  the  aid  of  a  dark 
Orpheus,  who,  if  he  did  not  draw  the  bow  of  a  Pagani- 
ni,  excited  equal  wonder  and  envy  among  contemporary 
musicians  of  his  own  color.  Agnes  did  not  dance  with 
remarkable  grace;  this  was  no  disappointment  to  Mr. 
Fleming,  for  he  was  not  anxious  that  she  should.  He 
had  never  allowed  her  to  be  complimented  about  her 
personal  appearance;  her  mirror  might  have  told  her 
that  it  was  fine;  but  Agnes  was  "too  proud  to  be 
vain." 

The  time  arrived  for  Agnes  to  make  her  debut.  A 
splendid  ball,  given  by  the  members  of  a  hunting  club 
in  the  neighborhood,  was  chosen  as  the  suitable  occa- 
sion. The  company  were  mostly  assembled,  when  Mr. 
Fleming  walked  into  the  ball-room,  with  'hie  elegant 
daughter  leaning  upon  his  arm.  He  was  yet  in  the  full 


226 

glory  of  manhood  ;  time's  rough  hand  had  not  been  laid 
unkindly  upon  a  single  trait  of  manly  beauty.  The  air, 
the  lofty  bearing,  of  father  and  daughter  were  striking- 
ly alike,  and  there  was  also  a  strong  resemblance  in 
countenance  ;  the  expanded  nostril,  that  gives  an  animat- 
ed, spirited  expression,  was  a  remarkably  characteristic 
feature  in  both  faces. 

As  Agnes  knew  nothing  of  the  world,  excepting  from 
books  and  the  conversation  of  her  father,  a  scene  so 
trying  to  a  novice  might  have  disconcerted  her ;  but  the 
desire  to  do  honor  to  her  father,  and  the  consciousness 
of  her  own  superiority,  enabled  her  to  maintain  perfect 
self-possession.  For  some  time,  no  one  approached  to 
beg  an  introduction  ;  the  effort  she  had  made  to  over- 
come the  timidity,  natural  to  every  young  woman,  had 
given  more  than  usual  coldness  and  hauteur  to  her  de- 
meanour, and  an  expression  of  face  as  far  from  agreeable 
as  could  well  be  conceived.  A  bachelor,  who  was  a 
friend  of  Mr.  Fleming,  near  his  own  age,  too,  but  who 
still  flourished  as  a  young  man,  at  length  solicited  her 
hand  for  the  dance,  and  led  her  to  the  head  of  the  room. 

The  delighted  father  could  not  keep  his  eyes  from  his 
idolized  child.  He  unconsciously  kept  time  with  his 
foot,  as  she  moved  through  the  dance,  and  when  she 
stopped,  his  gaze  was  fixed  upon  her  alone.  Fearing 
that  this  might  be  observed,  he  endeavoured  to  turn  off 
his  attention,  and  to  converse  with  a  gentleman  who 
stood  near  ;  but  his  eye  would  occasionally  wander  to 
the  object  of  attraction.  Suddenly  he  thought  he  per- 
ceived a  change  in  her  countenance ;  it  wras  deeply 
flushed ;  but  that  might  be  from  the  exercise  of  dancing ; 
but  then  her  eyes  were  flashing  with  indignation,  and  the 
curl  of  her  lip  denoted  any  thing  rather  than  pleasure. 


PRIDE.  227 

¥*"'       * 

Mr.  Fleming  grew  anxious,  —  excited,  —  and  Agnes  at 
length  cast  an  imploring  look  towards  him,  as  if  for 
protection,  while  her  partner  was  bowing  and  smiling  as 
if  he  were  saying  the  most  polite  and  agreeable  things 
imaginable. 

Mr.  Fleming  could  bear  suspense-no  longer ;  he  walked 
up  to  his  daughter,  and  said, — "  Agnes,  for  Heaven's  sake 
tell  me  what  ails  you  ;  —  are  you  ill  ?"  «  Not  ill,"  she 
replied,  "but  offended.  Will  you  lead  me  to  a  seat? 

Mr.  has  insulted  me."  Mr.  Fleming  turned  a 

fierce  look  upon  the  bachelor,  and  was  about  to  say, 
I  must  ask  for  an  explanation  in  another  place ;  but  the 
unsuspecting  man  grinned  in  his  face  so  provokingly, 
that  he  lost  all  self-command,  and  knocked  him  down. 

The  dancing  ceased,  and  great  was  the  commotion  in 
the  ball-room.  While  some  were  inquiring  into  the 
cause,  and  others  assisting  the  fallen  man  to  arise,  Mr. 
Fleming  left  the  apartment  with  Agnes,  and,  ordering  his 
carriage,  was  soon  on  the  way  homeward.  The  agitated 

father  inquired  what  Mr. had  said,  that  offended 

her  so  deeply.  She  replied,  that  she  was  ashamed 
to  mention  the  gross  flattery  that  he  had  addressed  to 
her.  That  it  was  "  an  insult  to  her  understanding  to 
suppose  that  she  was  so  vain  as  to  be  delighted  with 
such  silly  compliments."  The  flattery  was  such  as 
most  men  address  to  young  ladies,  —  ridiculous,  it  is 
true,  and  often  disagreeable ;  but  so  much  the  custom 
of  the  world,  that  only  Agnes's  ignorance  of  its  cus- 
toms, and  her  pride  made  her  deem  it  insulting.  Mr. 
Fleming  was  exceedingly  chagrined  that  he  had  been  so 
hasty,  but  had  the  generosity  not  to  blame  Agnes,  or 
we  might  say  the  justice,  —  for  the  seclusion  from  so- 
ciety, the  high  cultivation  of  mind,  the  pride  and  inde* 


228  THE  YOUNG  LADY's  HOME. 

pendence  of  character,  the  want  of  vivacity,  softness, 
and  gentleness  that  unfitted  her  for  the  light  gayety  of 
a  ball-room,  had  all  been  owing  to  himself.  Tears 
were  unfrequent  visiters  in  Agnes's  eyes  ;  but  now  they 
flowed  freely,  from  anger  and  mortification.  It  was  in 
vain  that  her  father  endeavored  to  soothe  her  wounded 
pride,  by  telling  her  that  men  were  much  addicted  to 
the  language  of  compliment,  —  that  perhaps  her  modesty 
had  exaggerated  its  impropriety,  —  that  he  was  gratified 
that  she  had  so  much  nobleness  of  mind  as  to  be 
above  the  meanness  of  vanity.  She  would  not  be  con- 
soled. «<  Mr. thought  her  a  fool,  and  everybody 

else  would  think  her  the  same,  because  she  had  no  self- 
command." 

The  next  morning  a  friend  of  the  ill-treated  bachelor 
waited  upon  Mr.  Fleming,  to  "  demand  satisfaction." 
Mr.  Fleming  was  not  willing  to  offer  any  apology. 
"  Time,  place,  and  weapons"  were  therefore  agreed 
upon  ;  his  nice  sense  of  honor  would  not  permit  him  to 
refuse  a  challenge.  It  was  decided  that  the  meeting 
should  be  at  sunset,  in  a  sequestered  spot  about  two 
miles  distant. 

Agnes  was  called  into  her  father's  library  to  hear  the 
result  of  her  resentment.  With  surprising  calmness, 
her  father  spoke  of  the  possible  consequences ;  the 
necessity  that  his  wife  should  at  present  remain  in  igno- 
rance of  the  whole  matter ;  for,  in  consequence  of  in- 
disposition and  an  exceedingly  nervous  temperament, 
she  had  not  been  informed  of  the  events  of  the  preced- 
ing evening.  He  then  gave  her  various  directions  about 
his  affairs,  recommending  the  continuance  of  his  faithful 
agent  in  his  present  situation,  and  naming  to  her  the  gen- 
tlemen he  had  appointed  as  executors  to  his  will, 


PRIDE.  229 

• 

Agnes  loved  her  father  as  deeply  as  she  was  capable  of 
loving;  but  she  heard  this  without  fainting,  and  even 
without  tears.  She  blamed  herself  as  the  cause,  but 
never  once  thought  of  entreating  her  father  to  refrain 
from  vindicating  his  honor.  She  firmly  believed  that  he 

would  escape  unhurt,  and  hoped  Mr. would  come 

off  with  a  very  slight  wound.  The  proud  father,  press- 
ing her  to  his  heart,  called  her  his  noble,  heroic  girl, 
and,  imprinting  a  kiss  upon  her  high  forehead,  bade  her 
farewell. 

Agnes  sat  at  the  window,  watching  with  intense  anxi- 
ety for  her  father's  return.  The  stars  came  out  one  by 
one  upon  the  clear  sky,  until  the  host  of  heaven  was 
marshalled  in  glorious  array.  She  listened  to  catch  the 
faintest  sound, — all  was  silent  but  the  tumultuous  beat- 
ing of  her  heart.  The  very  stars,  in  their  pure  and 
lovely  light,  filled  her  with  awe  ;  a  fearful  dread  of  ap- 
proaching evil  brought  her  to  an  agonizing  sense  of 
dependence  upon  Almighty  power.  She  sunk  into  the 
attitude  of  devotion,  with  her  hands  convulsively  clasped, 
—  but  she  could  not  pray.  A  low,  distant  sound  sum- 
moned her  to  the  window ;  nearer  and  nearer  it  came, 
until  the  slow  motion  of  a  carriage  could  be  distinctly 
heard.  O,  he  is  wounded !  he  is  wounded !  thought 
Agnes,  and  breath  and  motion  seemed  suspended.  Soon 
she  heard  heavy  footsteps  and  suppressed  voices  in  the 
hall  below ;  then  came  a  shriek  so  loud  and  piercing, 
that  it  thrilled  through  her  frame  like  electricity.  In  an 
instant  she  was  in  the  hall.  There  lay  the  lifeless  form 
of  her  father,  covered  with  blood  ;  her  mother  rushed 
by  her  a  raving  maniac.  The  unusual  noise  in  the  hall 
had  startled  Mrs.  Fleming ;  she  opened  the  door  of  the 
parlour,  and  the  first  object  that  caught  her  eye  was  the 
20 


230 

• 

corpse  of  her  husband!  In  that  wild  shriek  reason 
vanished,  and  memory  passed  into  dark  oblivion.  She 
never  recovered. 

******* 

And  Agnes  is  alone.  She  sits  with  arms  folded 
upon  the  marble  table,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  its  curious 
mosaic,  yet  she  sees  it  not.  The  soft  light  that  comes 
through  the  window  of  the  vaulted  ceiling  falls  upon  her 
face,  revealing  the  change  that  grief  has  wrought ;  the 
deadly  paleness  where  the  roses  of  health  glowed  upon 
cheek  and  lip ;  the  thin  nostril,  expanding  with  every 
breath  ;  the  dark  eyes  that  flashed  with  dazzling  lustre, 
dull  and  sunken  in  their  sockets ;  yet  that  countenance 
has  not  the  calm,  subdued  expression  that  sorrow  often 
produces.  Around  her  are  the  records  of  the  wisdom 
of  past  ages,  arranged  with  scrupulous  care  in  their 
beautiful  cases  of  polished  rose-wood.  The  marble 
busts  of  men  of  immortal  genius  seemed  mounted  as 
sentinels  over  the  treasures  of  learning  and  science. 
An  Apollo,  in  his  sublime  majesty,  looks  from  a  pedes- 
tal in  one  corner ;  a  Minerva  decorates  the  opposite 
corner ;  while  the  others  are  ornamented  with  a  group  of 
the  Graces,  and  Cupid  and  Psyche.  Appropriate  dec- 
orations these,  for  the  library  of  the  Tusculan  villa, 
and  the  cold  philosophy  that  Agnes  is  endeavoring  to 
cultivate,  is  such  as  might  have  suited  Cicero's  daugh- 
ter. As  she  looks  at  the  splendid  portrait  of  her 
father,  —  which  the  artist's  skill  has  rendered  so  like 
life  that  it  seems  to  be  reading  her  every  thought,  — 
does  not  self-accusation  make  her  shrink  from  that  eagle 
eye  ?  Does  she  not  feel  that  the  pride  of  intellect, 
which  led  her  to  construe  into  an  insult  the  trifling  of 
a  man  of  fashion,  laid  that  father  into  the  self-murderer's 


PRIDE.  231 

grave?  No,  she  gazes  upon  it  almost  with  adoration, 
and  glories  in  a  death  so  noble,  in  defence  of  his  honor 
and  his  daughter's  delicacy.  So  deeply,  so  firmly,  had 
Agnes  imbibed  her  father's  opinions  with  regard  to  du- 
elling, that  she  would  have  deemed  it  craven  cowardice 
to  refuse  a  challenge.  And  now,  where  so  large 
a  portion  of  her  life  had  been  spent  in  the  pursuit  of 
knowledge,  day  after  day  she  sits  with  her  father's  favo- 
rite books  before  her,  endeavoring  to  find  consolation 
or  temporary  forgetful  ness.  The  kind  nurse,  who  had 
been  retained  since  her  infancy  as  a  companion  and  an 
assistant  to  her  mother,  has  just  returned  from  a  distant 
journey.  There,  far  away  from  home  and  kindred,  her 
mother  lies  in  a  lonely  grave ;  the  skill  of  physicians, 
and  the  most  tender  treatment  had  failed  to  restore 
reason ;  a  feeble  constitution  could  not  sustain  the 
shock,  and  in  three  months  from  that  awful  event  she 
was  no  more. 

Agnes  was  now  the  sole  heiress  to  an  immense  fortune. 
The  neighbors  and  acquaintances  of  her  parents  had 
called  to  offer  condolence,  and  had  been  refused  admit- 
tance ;  after  a  while  they  called  again,  dropped  their 
cards,  and  then  left  Agnes  to  her  chosen  solitude. 
She  now  saw  no  one  but  the  servants,  and  the  excel- 
lent nurse,  who  was  tenderly  and  devotedly  attached, 
and  now  watched  over  her  with  maternal  care.  Agnes 
was  a  kind,  considerate,  and  even  a  gentle  mistress. 
Her  pride  never  exhibited  itself  to  her  inferiors ;  it 
would  have  been  beneath  her  lofty  character  to  treat 
them  with  contempt. 

The  first  time  that  Agnes  visited  her  father's  library 
after  his  death,  she  found  a  letter  addressed  to  herself, 
in  which  he  revealed  to  her  his  favorite  plan.  His 


232 

nephew,  George  Stanley,  was  at  an  university,  where 
he  had  nearly  completed  his  education.  It  had  been 
his  intention,  on  his  return,  to  receive  him  into  his  fam- 
ily, with  the  hope  that  he  might  become  attached  to 
Agnes,  and  a  union  take  place  which  would  make  up 
to  him  the  want  of  fortune  on  his  own  part ;  no  intima- 
tion of  this  scheme  had  ever  been  given  to  Stanley. 
Mr.  Fleming  conjured  his  daughter  to  receive  him  in 
the  same  way  that  he  would  have  done,  and  if  they 
were  mutually  pleased,  as  he  had  not  left  him  even  a 
legacy,  he  hoped  the  consummation  would  be  such  as 
he  fervently  desired. 

A  request  made  in  such  a  manner,  Agnes  felt  bound 
in  honor  to  fulfil.  George  had  occasionally  been  the 
playmate  of  her  childhood,  —  the  only  one,  —  and 
therefore  remembered  with  some  interest  and  pleasure. 

Some  months  passed  away  in  the  same  monotonous 
manner  with  Agnes,  when  she  was  aroused  to  exertion 
by  the  arrival  of  her  cousin  George.  The  idea  that 
she  must  make  herself  as  agreeable  as  possible  was  not 
exactly  suited  to  Agnes's  taste  ;  however,  she  was  com- 
pelled to  make  the  effort.  Pearson,  as  the  nurse  was 
called,  must  do  the  honors  of  the  house,  and  receive 
him  as  her  guest. 

George  Stanley  was  a  gay,  impulsive  young  man, 
whom  a  collegiate  education  had  not  cured  of  a  passion 
for  hunting  and  fine  horses.  Agnes  was  spared  for  a 
while  from  having  much  of  his  society,  by  the  attrac- 
tions the  neighborhood  offered  for  his  favorite  amuse- 
ments. Remembering,  however,  her  former  fondness 
for  riding  on  horseback,  he  urged  her  to  accompany 
him,  and  this  exercise,  so  beneficial  to  the  health  arid 
spirits,  brought  back  to  Agnes  a  portion  of  her  former 


PRIDE  233 

vivacity.  She  endeavoured  to  discover  if  she  had 
made  a  favorable  impression  upon  her  cousin,  and  if 
the  progress  she  was  making  in  his  good  opinion  were 
such  as  to  encourage  hope.  O,  what  a  sacrifice  of 
maidenly  pride  !  She,  who  of  all  women 

"  Would  be  wooed,  and  not  unsought  be  won," 

must  "  stoop  to  conquer."  She  suspected  that  he 
liked  her  fine  horses  better  than  her  fair  self;  more- 
over, if  she  could  have  seen  into  the  depths  of  his 
heart,  she  would  have  discovered  that  he  had  never 
once  thought  or  cared  whether  she  liked  him  or  not. 
After  a  visit  of  a  few  weeks,  Stanley,  finding  it  rather 
dull,  made  the  apology  of  business  in  town,  and  left  Ag- 
nes to  the  enjoyment  of  her  former  solitude. 

Nurse  Pearson  grieved  to  see  her  dear  young  lady 
relapsing  again  into  gloom,  and  wondered  that  any  hu- 
man being  could  be  insensible  to  such  transcendent  ex- 
cellence :  her  anxious  eye  could  discover  nothing  but 
indifference  in  the  manner  of  Stanley ;  but  in  her  dar- 
ling foster-child  she  thought  her  shrewdness  had  de- 
tected an  emotion  that  she  probably  wished  to  conceal. 
No  such  emotion,  however,  existed.  The  strong  de- 
sire of  Agnes  to  fulfil  the  last  request  of  her  venerated 
father  had  deceived  the  good  woman,  and  perhaps 
Agnes  herself  was  deceived  by  it  into  a  belief  that  she 
was  not  indifferent  to  her  cousin.  It  is  not  necessary 
to  dwell  upon  the  mortification  she  felt  at  the  sudden 
departure  of  Stanley.  It  is  certain  that  she  was  not 
lowered  in  her  own  estimation  by  it,  and  one  source  of 
consolation  was,  that  he  was  not  capable  of  appreciating 
her  merit. 

Again  Agnes  resorts  to  the  library,  and  her  father's 
20* 


234 


eyes  are  bent  upon  her,  she  fancies,  with  kind  appro- 
bation. His  generous  intentions  towards  his  nephew 
had  been  frustrated  by  the  young  man's  own  want  of 
taste  and  discernment. 

One  evening,  at  twilight,  as  she  sat  in  the  loneliness 
of  this  beloved  sanctum  sanctorum,  "  musing  upon  the 
checkered  past,  a  term  much  darkened  by  untimely 
woes,"  she  heard  the  approach  of  a  horseman,  and 
almost  immediately  the  door  of  the  library  opened,  and 
in  rushed  George  Stanley.  The  unceremonious  en- 
trance, and  familiar  manner  in  which  he  saluted  her, 
abashed  the  startled  girl ;  in  that  place,  too,  where  he 
had  never  been  permitted  to  enter  before. 

"You  did  not  expect  me,  coz,  —  hope  my  coming 
again  don't  displease  you,  —  taken  lodgings  at  the  hotel 
two  miles  off,  —  nearest  place  I  could  find  to  put  my 
head  in,  —  got  a  fine  horse,  —  come  to  you  in  five  min- 
utes,—  come  every  day." 

There  was  a  bold  audaciousness  in  Stanley's  manner, 
from  which  Agnes  shrunk  with  disgust.  What  could  it 
mean?  She  was  compelled  to  treat  him  with  polite- 
ness, though  every  pulse  in  her  body  throbbed  with 
indignation. 

"Why,  my  sweet  coz,  —  my  pretty  Agnes,  —  here 
you  sit  moping  among  the  gods  and  goddesses,  looking 
almost  as  pale  as  their  marble  selves.  And  there  is  the 
old  gentleman  himself,  if  the  dim  twilight  don't  deceive 
me.  I  should  think  you  would  die  with  the  blues. 
Come,"  continued  he,  seizing  her  hand,  « let  us  take  a 
stroll  about  the  grounds.  You  have  played  Niobe  here 
quite  long  enough." 

The  dim  light  alone  prevented  George  from  seeing 
the  flush  of  indignation  upon  his  cousin's  face,  the  con- 


PRIDE.  235 

temptuous  curl  of  the  Jip,  and  that  most  superlatively 
proud  lifting  of  the  head  and  flashing  of  the  dark  eyes. 
She  withdrew  her  hand,  but  could  not  speak. 

"  Have  I  taken  you  so  by  surprise,  that  you  can't 
find  voice  to  welcome  me  ?  How  is  Pearson  ?  Good 
creature,  I  hope  she  is  as  charming  as  ever." 

"  We  will  go  and  find  her  if  you  please,"  was  the 
brief  reply. 

****** 

Two  weeks  had  passed  since  this  interview,  and 
Agnes  was  betrothed  to  the  man  whom  she  despised. 
That  Stanley  had  learnt  from  some  source,  which  she 
could  not  discover,  her  father's  intentions,  and  her  wish 
to  fulfil  them,  she  could  not  doubt.  Never  for  a  moment 
did  she  flatter  herself  that  he  loved  her ;  she  believed, 
that,  deserving  his  respect  and  esteem,  they  must  be 
yielded  as  her  right ;  what  more  could  she  wish? 

The  eremite  seclusion,  in  which  Agnes  passed  the 
year  that  intervened  between  her  betrothal  and  nuptials, 
was  spent  in  endeavouring  to  fortify  her  heart  against 
all  misgivings.  Nature  had  not  gifted  her  with  uncom- 
mon sensibility,  and  the  stern,  masculine  education  she 
had  received  was  not  calculated  to  increase  it ;  yet, 
woman's  nature  would  at  times  assert  its  rights,  and 
the  repugnance  she  felt  to  an  union  in  which  her  heart 
bore  no  share,  it  was  difficult  to  quell.  In  her  mind, 
the  distinctions  between  virtue  and  vice  were  such  as 
had  been  fixed  by  the  Latin  and  English  classics. 
She  never  brought  her  motives  before  the  tribunal  of 
an  enlightened  conscience,  —  never  trembled  in  view 
of  the  sinfulness  of  her  heart  in  the  sight  of  a  Holy 
Being. 


236  THE    YOUNG    LADY'S    HOME. 

Before  the  altar  where  Agnes  had  received  the  im- 
position of  hands  from  the  reverend  minister  of  God, 
she  kneels,  again  to  take  upon  herself  solemn  vows, 
which  she  is  unprepared  to  fulfil.  A  benumbing  apathy 
seized  her,  like  one  in  a  bewildered  dream ;  she  could 
not  articulate  the  words  that  made  rift-  a  wife.  But  the 
ceremony  was  over,  and  Stanley  handed  her  to  the  car- 
riage which  was  to  take  them  to  town.  Arrangements 
had  been  made  by  him  for  spending  the  winter  in  such 
a  manner,  as  to  impress  every  one  with  an  exalted  opin- 
ion of  his  wealth  and  taste. 

Agnes,  as  the  mistress  of  a  splendid  mansion,  was 
compelled  to  receive  crowds  of  strangers,  for  whom  she 
could  not  feel  the  least  interest.  Her  manners,  cold, 
repulsive,  and  haughty,  rendered  her  an  object  of  univer- 
sal dislike.  This  mortified  Stanley,  whose  greatest 
ambition  was  to  be  popular  among  his  own  set,  the  elite 
of  the  town. 

"Wife,"  said  he,  "I  cannot  see  what  good  your 
dignity  and  magnificent  airs  will  ever  do  you  or  me  in 
town  ;  I  advise  you  to  lay  them  aside  until  you  can  play 
them  off  again  among  the  sages  and  goddesses  of  the  old 
library  where  you  were  educated." 

The  shrug  with  which  this  inelegant  speech  was  utter- 
ed expressed  sovereign  contempt,  and  the  peculiar  em- 
phasis upon  the  last  word  was  such  a  reflection  upon 
the  generous  man  to  whom  he  owred  so  much,  that  it 
sent  a  sharp  pang  to  the  very  heart  of  the  indignant 
Agnes.  She  did  not  reply,  but  laid  it  up  "  for  the  re- 
membering of  after  years." 

In  society  she  was  cold  and  reserved,  because  she 
had  no  sympathy  with  the  people  whom  she  met ;  — 
knowing  nothing  about  the  subjects  that  interested  them, 


PRIDE.  237 

and  caring  less.  Occasionally,  some  one  who  had 
heard  that  she  was  a  literary  woman  would  venture  a 
remark  about  the  last  novel  or  play,  or  ask  some  such 
unmeaning  question  as,  "Are  you  fond  of  poetry?" 
or,  "  Which  do  you  like  best,  Italian  or  Spanish  liter- 
ature ?"  Dressed  in  a  splendid  velvet,  or  embroid- 
ered satin,  with  her  hair  arranged  in  the  most  tasteful 
manner,  and  profusely  ornamented  with  diamonds,  at 
the  request  of  her  vain  husband,  Agnes  would  stand  in 
a  drawing-room,  leaning  against  a  column,  with  an  air 
as  abstracted  and  mournful  as  Lady  Macbeth's  in  the 
sleep-walking  scene,  and  her  lofty  mien  and  carriage 
bore  a  striking  resemblance  to  a  tragedy  queen  at  a 
masquerade.  Stanley  she  seldom  saw,  excepting  on 
these  occasions ;  he  was  engrossed  by  a  continual  round 
of  dissipation. 

With  a  lively  pleasure,  that  was  an  unwonted  visitant 
to  the  heart  of  Agnes,  she  left  town,  to  return  to  her 
much-loved  home.  She  had  long  known  that  Stanley 
was  worse  than  indifferent ;  he  had  openly  manifested 
positive  dislike ;  but  she  maintained  towards  him  that 
outward  respect  due  to  her  own  dignity  and  his  situation 
as  her  husband.  Notwithstanding  the  rough  jokes  about 
the  library  and  its  grave  society,  Agnes  found  more 
happiness  in  returning  to  it  than  she  had  enjoyed  else- 
where. Nurse  Pearson's  ardent  warmth  of  affection, 
too,  was  like  a  ray  of  sunshine  upon  the  frozen  sterility 
of  her  heart. 

The  summer  was  quickly  over,  and  Agnes  feared 
she  should  be  again  compelled  to  return  to  town;  to 
her  glad  surprise,  Stanley  readily  consented  to  her  re- 
maining at  what  he  now  termed  his  country-house. 
After  calling  upon  the  faithful  agent,  whom  Agnes,  at 


238  THE  YOUNG  LADY'S  HOME. 

her  father's  request,  had  retained,  for  large  sums  of 
money,  to  be  forwarded  as  soon  as  possible,  he  return- 
ed, to  prepare  to  appear-  at  the  approaching  races  with 

great  eclat. 

****** 

A  new  vein  was  struck  in  Agnes's  heart,  when  she 
became  a  mother.  The  fountain  of  tenderness,  which 
had  long  been  sealed,  gushed  with  pure  and  renovating 
freshness.  For  a  while,  the  stream  of  affection  was 
unsullied  by  earthly  mixture.  But  as  she  gazed  upon 
her  lovely  boy,  she  thought  he  was  like  her  idolized 
father,  and  she  would  educate  him  to  be  such  as  he  and 
all  the  world  would  admire.  Visions  of  his  greatness 
floated  before  her  imagination,  —  her  ambition  would  at 
length  be  satisfied,  —  that  education  which  had  been 
ridiculed  should  be  transferred  to  her  son,  —  her  pride 
would  be  gratified  by  seeing  her  own  mind  reflected  by 
another,  who  would  shine  with  transcendent  lustre  be- 
fore the  world.  She  named  him  after  his  grandfather, 
Alfred  Fleming. 

On  receiving  news  of  the  birth  of  his  son,  Stanley 
wrote  to  Agnes,  expressing  his  joy,  and  requesting  that 
the  child  might  be  named  George.  He  pleaded  his  nu- 
merous engagements  in  town  as  an  apology  for  not 
paying  her  a  visit,  and  promised  to  be  home  early  in  the 
spring. 

The  next  day,  Agnes  despatched  a  messenger  for 
the  nearest  clergyman,  and  for  two  of  her  acquaint- 
ances to  stand  as  godfather  and  godmother  for  her  son. 
Before  evening  he  was  baptized,  and  named  Alfred 
Fleming. 

During  the  winter,  Stanley  occasionally  wrote  to 
Agnes,  making  many  inquiries  about  his  little  George, 


PRIDE.  239 

vvnich  were  dutifully  answered,  without  mentioning  the 
child  by  name.  Spring  had  long  donned  her  loveliest 
robes,  and  was  about  yielding  her  sweet  reign  to  her 
warmer  sister,  before  the  tardy  husband  was  ready  to 
return  to  his  neglected  wife  and  child. 

It  was  not  possible  for  the  father  to  resist  the  sweet 
influence  of  his  beautiful  boy.  A  bright  smile  played 
around  the  infant's  lovely  mouth,  as  he  looked  into  his 
face,  and  glowed  warm  to  his  heart ;  for  his  sake,  the 
mother  was  met  with  cordial  kindness. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  horizon  of  Agnes  could  never 
remain  long  unclouded.  Stanley  had  been  home  three 
days,  and  the  boy's  name  had  not  been  mentioned.  He 
was  brought  into  the  parlour  one  morning  after  break- 
fast, and  was  amusing  his  father  with  some  infantile 
pranks  that  he  had  already  learned.  "Clap  your  hands, 
Alfred,"  said  his  delighted  mother.  He  was  in  the  act 
of  putting  his  little  dimpled  hands  together,  when  a  loud 
exclamation  from  Stanley  changed  his  merry  laugh  to  a 
scream  of  terror.  "What  did  you  call  the  boy?  His 
name  is  George,"  said  Stanley  in  a  thunder-toned 
voice. 

"His  name  is  Alfred  Fleming,"  quietly  replied  Ag- 
nes. 

"No  such  thing.  I  named  him  George  ;  you  know, 
Madam,  I  did.  How  durst  you  call  him  by  any  other 
name?  From  this  time  henceforth  and  for  ever,  see 
that  he  is  so  called,  or,  by  Jove " 

Agnes  interrupted  him.  "That  name  was  given  him 
in  the  holy  sacrament  of  baptism,  and  cannot  be  taken 
from  him." 

"Then  he  shall  be  unbaptized,  for  I  forbid  that  he 
shall  retain  that  hated  name." 


240 

"  To  the  noble-hearted  man  who  bore  that  honored 
name,  you  are  indebted,  Sir,  for  house,  home,  every 
thing  that  you  possess,"  replied  Agnes,  no  longer  able 
to  control  herself. 

"  Yes,  his  cunning  plan  of  robbing  me  of  what  I  had 
a  right  to  expect  from  him,  drew  me  into  the  snare. 
On  my  return  to  town  after  my  first  visit  to  you,  Madam, 
I  learned  from  one  of  the  executors  of  his  will  what 
he  expected  of  me ;  that  I  should  marry  his  daughter, 
whom  his  foolish  notions  had  so  spoiled  that  probably 
no  one  else  would  take  her.  I  was  the  victim  of  my 
own  generosity;  for,  pitying  you,  I  have  brought  all 
this  upon  myself;  but  I  have  not  sold  myself  into  bond- 
age. I  will  be  master  here."  So  saying,  Stanley  flung 
out  of  the  house,  and  during  several  days  after,  spoke 
not  a  word  to  Agnes,  nor  inquired  for  the  child. 

This  shocking  altercation  had  raised  the  spirit  of 
Agnes  to  its  utmost  height ;  she  determined  never  to 
call  her  boy  by  any  other  name  than  the  one  she  had 
given  him.  In  this  she  was  seconded  by  Nurse  Pear- 
son, who  venerated  his  grandfather.  A  message  from 
the  father,  in  the  most  imperative  terms  commanding 
the  servants  to  call  the  young  master,  George,  was 
therefore  totally  disregarded. 

About  a  week  after  this  matrimonial  quarrel,  Agnes 
had  been  out  taking  an  airing  with  her  child  and  nurse. 
As  the  carriage  drove  up  the  avenue  leading  to  the 
house,  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  some  one  at  work  upon 
the  wing  that  was  used  for  the  library.  As  she  drew 
nearer,  she  perceived  that  several  men  were  employed 
in  pulling  it  down,  and  had  already  made  some  progress 
in  the  work  of  destruction.  Agnes  alighted  from  the 
carriage,  and  entering  the  house,  flew  to  her  father's 


PRIDE.  241 

beloved  library.  What  a  scene  of  confusion  !  —  books, 
prints,  statues,  pictures,  globes,  all  were  removed  from 
their  places,  and  men  were  employed  carrying  them  as 
fast  as  possible  to  an  old  lumber-room.  She  ordered 
them  to  desist.  They  replied  that  they  were  obeying 
the  directions  of  Mr.  Stanley,  who  was  about  to  build 
a  new  wing,  and  make  some  other  alterations.  «  Then 
I  countermand  his  orders.  Leave  your  sacrilegious 
work  immediately."  There  wras  energy  and  power 
in  the  manner  of  Agnes,  that  could  not  be  resisted. 
The  men  on  the  exterior  came  down,  and  those  within 
walked  off  amazed  and  intimidated.  "  Here  at  least 
I  will  be  mistress,"  said  Agnes,  wrought  up  almost  to 
frenzy ;  and  seeing  her  father's  portrait,  which  had  not 
yet  been  disturbed,  she  apostrophised  it  in  language  that 
was  almost  impious. 

When  the  first  fury  of  the  tempest  that  raged  in  the 
mind  of  the  unhappy  wife  had  subsided,  she  commenced 
replacing  some  of  the  scattered  books ;  while  thus  in- 
tently occupied,  Stanley  entered  the  apartment,  and  de- 
manded who  had  ordered  his  workmen  to  leave  the 
business  about  wrhich  he  had  employed  them. 

Agnes,  with  assumed  calmness,  replied,  —  "  That  her 
father's  library  should  remain  as  he  left  it,  for  his  .grand- 
son, and  she  had  not  thought  there  wras  a  man  living 
who  could  be  so  mean  and  so  debased,  as  to  show  such 
ingratitude  as  he  had  done  to  his  benefactor." 

It  is  useless  to  dwell  upon  the  tornado  that  followed. 
Stanley  was  naturally  violent  and  impulsive ;  his  rage 
knew  no  bounds ;  after  dashing  in  pieces  several  busts, 
and  raving  for  a  while  like  a  madman,  he  snatched  up 
his  fowling-piece,  which  happened  to  lie  near  him,  and, 
whistling  for  his  dogs,  went  off  into  the  neighboring 
21 


242  THE  YOUNG  LADY's  HOME. 

woods,  as  if  in  pursuit  of  game.  He  had  not  been  ab- 
sent an  hour,  \vhen  one  of  his  dogs,  a  sagacious  pointer, 
came  running  home  at  full  speed.  He  barked,  whined, 
and  tugged  at  the  coat  of  one  of  the  servants,  till  he  be- 
came alarmed,  and  calling  another  man,  they  followed 
the  dog.  They  reached  a  swamp  covered  thickly  with 
bushes,  and  penetrated  with  some  difficulty  to  the  spot 
where  the  pointer  led.  Suddenly,  the  other  dog  set  up 
a  terrible  howl;  —  they  reached  the  spot,  —  there  lay 
Stanley  with  his  fowling-piece  beside  him,  discharged  in 
such  a  way  as  to  shatter  his  head  and  face  in  the  most 
shocking  manner.  The  men  ran  back,  —  the  coroner 
was  summoned,  —  the  inquest  holden,  —  and  th^  verdict 
given,  —  "Killed  by  the  accidental  discharge  of  a  fowl- 
ing-piece." A  surgeon  had  been  called,  but  arrived 
after  the  body  was  removed.  On  examining  the  wounds 
he  was  seen  to  shake  his  head  and  pronounce  the  word 
"  accidental,"  in  a  manner  that  implied  a  fearful  doubt. 
****** 

In  a  quiet  little  village  more  than  eight  hundred  miles 
from  her  home,  lives  a  widow  with  her  bright  and  beau- 
tiful boy.  Old  Nurse  Pearson  regards  him  with  won- 
der and  delight  as  he  reads  aloud  to  his  mother ;  five 
years  have  changed  him,  from  an  infant  in  her  arms,  to 
this  prodigy  of  learning. 

Agnes,  before  she  left  home,  had  restored  every  thing 
in  her  house  to  the  same  condition  in  which  it  was  left 
by  her  father.  She  had  then  caused  it  to  be  shut  up, 
and  leaving  it,  with  all  her  affairs,  to  the  care  of  her 
faithful  agent,  determined  that  it  should  never  again  be 
opened,  until  Alfred  Fleming  was  of  age  to  take  pos- 
session of  the  mansion  of  his  ancestors. 

The  small,  plain  house  that  she  now  occupied  the 


PRIDE.  243 

villagers  had  dignified  with  the  name  of  u  the  widow's 
cottage."  There  was  nothing  about  it  that  indicated 
wealth ;  but  when  Agnes  walked  out,  leading  Alfred 
by  the  hand,  her  proud  step  and  striking  air  led  them 
to  say,  "  She  has  seen  better  days."  Her  object  in  re- 
moving so  far  from  her  native  home  was  twofold,  —  that 
Alfred  should  know  nothing  of  the  melancholy  events 
of  former  years,  and  that,  believing  himself  to  be  in  pos- 
session of  a  bare  competency,  he  should  exert  himself 
to  become  distinguished  by  his  talents.  She  determined 
to  educate  him  in  the  same  manner  as  she  had  been 
educated  herself,  until  he  should  go  to  the  University. 
Her  father's  noble  spirit,  his  high  and  honorable  senti- 
ments, his  pride  of  family  and  pride  of  character, — 
her  heart  throbbed  with  exultation,  when  she  thought 
how  perfectly  they  would  be  reflected  by  the  brilliant 
creature  who  bore  his  name. 

The  curiosity  of  the  good  people  of  the  village  had 
been  exercised,  in  vain,  upon  the  inhabitants  of  the 
widow's  cottage.  Nurse  Pearson  maintained  the  only 
intercourse  which  was  kept  up  between  the  two  pow- 
ers, and  this  amounted  only  to  the  buying  of  some  of 
the  necessaries  of  life.  The  occasional  arrival  of  boxes, 
hampers,  and  barrels,  containing  the  productions  of  a 
different  climate,  which  had  undergone  the  closest  scru- 
tiny as  they  passed  through  the  long  street  of  the  vil- 
lage, gave  them  the  information,  that  the  widow  came 
from  afar,  and  that  her  name  was  Mrs.  Fleming.  A  let- 
ter through  the  little  post-office  three  or  four  times  a 
year  was  subjected  to  a  still  more  close  inspection ; 
but  no  new  facts  were  obtained. 

Mrs.  Fleming,  for  Agnes  chose  to  be  called  by  that 
name  alone,  had  for  two  years  been  thus  the  object  of 


244 

insatiable  curiosity,  which  now,  "  mocking  the  meat  it 
fed  on,"  was  ready  to  do  or  dare  any  thing  for  more 
substantial  aliment. 

Agnes  would  not  subject  herself  to  the  necessity  of 
taking  an  humble  seat  in  church,  nor  of  being  obliged 
to  any  of  the  villagers  for  a  more  elevated  one  ;  she 
therefore  never  attended  public  worship.  Nurse  Pear- 
son went  occasionally,  and  at  Christmas  there  was  a 
fifty-dollar  note  among  the  charitable  offerings ;  on  other 
festivals,  ten  or  twenty-dollar  notes  made  their  appear- 
ance. This  was  a  sort  of  expiation,  which  soothed  the 
conscience  of  the  donor,  for  never  entering  the  conse- 
crated place  of  worship. 

The  lawyer's,  doctor's,  and  merchant's  wives  were 
the  magnates  of  the  village.  Over  their  tea,  they  had 
consulted  again  and  again  whether  the  widow7  was  a 
suitable  person  for  them  to  patronize.  The  plainness, 
and  almost  meanness,  of  the  house  she  occupied,  had 
hitherto  decided  them  to  the  negative  side  of  the  ques- 
tion ;  those  fifty  and  twenty-dollar  gifts  brought  them 
over  to  the  affirmative ;  they  must  know  more  about 
the  ivoman,  or  they  should  die,  like  Aunt  Charity,  of 
curiosity. 

Accordingly,  the  three  ladies,  dressed  in  their  "  best 
bib  and  tucker,"  went  one  morning  "  to  make  a  call." 
When  they  arrived  at  the  humble  door,  they  tittered 
among  themselves,  before  they  lifted  the  black,  old- 
fashioned  knocker,  to  think  that  persons  of  their  re- 
spectability should  be  seen  knocking  at  such  an  humble 
habitation.  "Never  mind,"  said  one,  "if  any  of  our 
acquaintances  from  town  should  happen  to  see  us,  they 
would  think  we  were  out  on  some  charitable  visit." 

The  door  was   opened  by  a  tidy-looking  Irish   girl, 


PRIDE.  245 

who,  on  their  inquiring  for  Mrs.  Fleming,  showed  them 
into  a  small,  neat  parlor.  The  only  movables  that  be- 
tokened wealth  in  the  occupant  of  the  house,  were  a 
bookcase  filled  with  books  in  splendid  bindings,  and  a 
full-length  portrait  of  a  gentleman.  He  did  not  look 
upon  them  with  a  remarkably  complacent  air  of  wel- 
come ;  his  large,  dark  eyes  staring  them  full  in  the  face, 
seemed  to  ask  why  they  had  intruded  upon  his  retire- 
ment. They  were  awed  to  silence  by  his  dignity,  and 
began  wondering  what  apology  they  should  offer  to  the 
woman;  but  before  they  had  decided,  she  entered  the 
room.  A  widow's  cap,  of  the  finest  lawn,  set  off  to 
advantage  the  regular  oval  face  and  Grecian  features  of 
Agnes ;  the  black  dress,  which  fell  in  rich  and  ample 
folds  around  her  tall  figure,  was  relieved  by  a  collar  and 
cuffs  of  the  same  material  as  the  cap,  which  seemed  to 
add  to  the  pure  complexion  of  a  beautiful  throat  and  ex- 
ceedingly delicate  hands.  Agnes  had  resolved  to  wear 
a  widow's  weeds  as  long  as  she  lived.  Whether  she 
wore  them  as  hair-cloth  is  worn,  for  penance,  is  con- 
jectural. 

The  lawyer's  wife  was  to  introduce  the  other  ladies ; 
but  so  great  became  her  embarrassment  at  the  entrance 
of  Mrs.  Fleming,  that  she  quite  forgot  to  act  as  mistress 
of  ceremonies ;  so  they  all  made  their  lowest  courtesies, 
and  sat  down  again.  They  then  looked  and  nodded  at 
each  other,  to  begin  conversation,  but  the  lofty  and  re- 
pulsive manner  in  which  they  had  been  received,  so  dis- 
concerted them,  that,  it  was  some  time  before  even  the 
lawyer's  wife  could  say,  —  "A  very  pleasant  day, 
ma'am."  Agnes  looked  as  if  she  wondered  whether 
they  were  a  committee  on  the  weather  sent  to  announce 
to  her  the  important  fact.  Another  pause.  The  mer- 
21* 


246  THE  YOUNG  LADY'S  HOME. 

chant's  wife  began  in  an  affected  tone,  —  "I  think, 
ma'am,  you  must  have  found  it  lonesome  here  these  two 
years,  among  us  strangers ;"  and  gaining  courage  at  the 
sound  of  her  own  voice,  though  her  neighbors  could 
scarcely  recognise  it,  she  went  on,  —  "I  have  taken  a 
great  fancy  to  your  delightful  little  boy,  and  have  tried 
to  coax  him  with  apples,  and  nuts,  and  gingerbread,  to 
come  into  our  house ;  but  he  is  very  shy."  The  other 
ladies  joined  in, —  "  He  is  a  sweet  little  fellow."  Mrs. 
Fleming  bowed,  and  her  countenance  relaxed  a  little 
from  its  stern  gravity,  as  if  to  thank  them  for  their  good 
opinion  of  her  son. 

The  ladies  by  this  time  had  recovered  in  part  their 
self-possession,  and  apologizing  for  not  introducing  each 
other,  named  themselves  as  Mrs.  This,  That,  and  The 
Other,  the  lawyer's,  doctor's,  and  merchant's  wives,  of 

the  village  of .  Mrs.  Fleming,  at  this  information, 

did  not  express  surprise  or  pleasure  at  their  wonderful 
condescension,  but  asked  "the  cause  to  which  she  owed 
the  honor  of  their  visit." 

The  doctor's  wife  now  acted  as  spokeswoman  ;  she 
had  studied  her  part  beforehand.  "  We  seldom  call 
upon  people  who  bring  no  letter  of  introduction,  and 
that  is  the  reason  we  have  not  called  upon  you  before ; 
but  from  what  we  have  seen  of  you  and  your  little  boy, 
we  thought  as  how  you  might  have  been  in  better  cir- 
cumstances, and  so  was  still  entitled  to  the  best  society." 
Although  this  speech  had  been  recited  before,  to  the  sat- 
isfaction of  the  other  ladies,  it  now  sounded  peculiarly 
inappropriate  ;  they  blushed  and  hemmed,  and  winked  at 
the  doctor's  wife  ;  but  she  went  through  with  it.  Mrs. 
Fleming  thanked  them  for  their  infinite  condescension, 
but  said  she  did  not  go  into  society. 


PRIDE.  247 

Another  pause  that  was  truly  "awful."  But  the 
merchant's  wife  determined  that  she  would  gain  some- 
thing from  this  visit ;  making  a  bold  push,  as  she  called 
it,  scarcely  daring  however  to  turn  her  eyes  toward  the 
stately  picture,  she  inquired,  —  "Pray,  ma'am,  is  that 
the  likeness  of  your  husband  ?"  From  the  day  of  Stan- 
ley's death  to  the  present  moment,  no  allusion  had 
ever  been  made  to  him,  either  by  Agnes  herself,  or  by 
any  other  person  in  her  presence.  She  grew  fearfully 
pale,  and  in  a  voice  whose  deep  tones  were  thrilling, 
replied,  —  "It  is  not ;"  then,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
added, — "If  you  wish  for  any  farther  information,  allow 
me  to  call  my  woman."  She  arose  and  withdrew. 
The  discomfited  ladies  completely  stumbled  over  each 
other  as  they  rapidly  retreated  out  of  the  house,  —  the 
merchant's  wife  casting  a  furtive  glance  at  the  picture, 
to  be  quite  sure  that  it  had  not  stepped  forth  to  chastise 
her  impertinence. 

V  What  lofty  airs !"  "Did  you  ever  see  the  like?" 
"What  pride!"  "What  insolence!"  "How  pro- 
voking!" "There  is  something  mysterious  about  all 
this !"  Such  were  the  exclamations  of  the  angry  vis- 
iters  on  their  way  homeward.  Their  curiosity  was  stim- 
ulated to  agony,  their  invention  taxed  to  the  utmost  to 
make  discoveries ;  just  then,  there  happened  to  stop  a 
load  of  those  boxes  and  barrels,  that  had  hitherto  thrown 
the  only  light  upon  the  subject.  They  were  directed  to 
the  care  of  a  small  grocer,  a  still,  quiet  man,  who  had 
no  wife ;  no  other  inference  is  to  be  drawn  from  this, 
than  that  the  ladies  were  not  acquainted  with  him.  In 
the  eagerness  of  their  desire  for  information,  they  step- 
ped into  the  little  shop,  and  inquired  for  cloves  and  nut- 
megs. Flattered  by  the  politeness  of  his  new  customers, 


248 

the  man  was  very  carefully  doing  up  the  small  bundle  of 
spices,  when  one  of  them  turned  and  said, — "  You  have 
the  care  of  Mrs.  Fleming's  business  ?" 

"I  have,  ma'am." 

"  Do  you  know  where  she  came  from  ?" 

"  I  do  not ;  these  barrels  and  boxes  are  consigned  to 
my  care  by  a  merchant  in  New  York.  All  that  he  told 
me  was,  that  the  lady  was  worth  a  power  of  money. 
That  her  father  and  husband  died  very  suddenly,  and 
that  she  now  goes  by  her  maiden  name." 

All  this  was  "strange,  'twas  passing  strange,  'twas 
pitiful,  't  was  wondrous  pitiful" ;  they  were  astonished 
that  they  had  not  heard  it  before.  Home  they  went  to 
the  lawyer's  house,  and  before  they  parted  at  ten  o'clock 
that  night,  they  had  concocted  out  of  it  a  most  horrible 
story,  which,  before  the  week  ended,  was  in  the  mouth 
of  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the  village,  except- 
ing only  the  tenants  of  "the  widow's  cottage." 

About  a  fortnight  after  "the  call,"  the  Irish  servant- 
girl,  who  had  been  sent  from  New  York,  when  Mrs. 
Fleming  first  arrived  in  the  village,  and  had  continued 
with  her,  presented  herself  in  the  parlor,  without  being 
summoned.  Engaged  in  her  morning's  task  of  instruct- 
ing Alfred,  Mrs.  Fleming  did  not  for  some  time  lift  her 
eyes  from  the  book  over  which  they  were  leaning. 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am,  I  've  something  to  say," 
said  the  girl. 

«  Well,  Kathleen,  what  is  it?" 

"  I  've  come  to  give  warning ;  I  wish  to  leave, 
ma'am." 

"  To  leave  me,  Kathleen !  What  has  displeased 
you.?" 


PRIDE.  249 

«'Tis  not  that  I'm  displeased,  at  all,  at  all.  A 
kind  misthress  have  you  been  to  me." 

"  Well,  then,  why  do  you  wish  to  leave  ?" 

"  Becaase,  —  becaase,  —  for  the  life  of  me  I  don't 
know  how  to  tell  it ;  but  I  don't  like  to  live  on  ill-gotten 
money." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  Kathleen ;  I  believe  you 
to  be  perfectly  honest." 

"And  it's  not  me,  ma'am,  that's  not  honest.  They 
do  say  such  things  of  you,  that  I  dare  not  stay  longer 
under  the  same  roof." 

"And  where  are  you  going  to  live,  Kathleen?" 

"  Up  at  the  big  white  house  yonther,  with  the  law- 
yer's lady." 

This,  in  part,  unravelled  the  mystery.  Doubtless, 
some  spiteful  revenge  for  the  ill-received  visit,  thought 
Agnes,  and  she  merely  said,  —  "  Well  you  may  go  im- 
mediately; your  wages  were  paid  last  evening." 

Kathleen's  great  blue  eyes  were  overflowing  with 
tears,  as  she  dropped  a  low  courtesy,  and  said,  —  "Fare 
you  well,  Master  Alfred ;  God  bless  your  swate  face, 
and  dear  kind  heart !" 

As  soon  as  she  left  the  room,  Alfred  turned,  with 
wondering  looks,  to  his  mother;  —  "What  does  she 
mean,  mamma?" 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  my  child  ;  I  did  not  understand 
the  poor,  foolish  creature,  at  all." 

"  Why  did  you  not  ask  her,  then,  dear  mamma?" 

"  Because,  my  child,  it  was  beneath  me ;  I  have  too 
much  pride  to  condescend  to  ask  an  explanation  of  a 
servant.  Let  us  now  go  on  with  our  lesson." 

The  mysterious  manner  in  which  Kathleen  had 
spoken  implied  a  great  deal.  Alfred  was  troubled  at 


250 

the  remembrance  of  it.  He  loved  his  mother  tenderly  ; 
but  yet,  like  every  one  else,  felt  awed  in  her  presence ; 
he  durst  not  question  her  farther,  but  he  made  many  in- 
quiries of  Nurse  Pearson,  which  were  cautiously  evaded. 
The  child  felt  that  something  was  wrong. 

Mrs.  Fleming  requested  Nurse  Pearson  to  go  out  and 
find  another  servant ;  adding,  that  some  mischievous 
person  had  been  frightening  poor  Kathleen.  Nurse  had 
learnt  the  whole  story  from  the  girl,  but  feared  to  speak 
of  it.  It  was  a  serious  undertaking  for  Nurse  to  go 
among  even  the  poorest  villagers.  Although  she  had 
been  the  dispenser  of  Mrs.  Fleming's  bounty  among 
them,  they  looked  frightened  when  she  appeared,  and 
refused,  with  one  consent,  to  live  with  that  wicked 
woman.  It  was  in  vain  that  the  good  \voman  reasoned, 
ridiculed,  and  besought ;  they  applied  the  proverb, 
"  Like  master,  like  man,"  and  dismissed  her  very  un- 
ceremoniously from  their  doors.  The  only  one  whom 
she  could  find  to  fill  Kathleen's  place  was  a  poor  deaf 
and  dumb  girl,  who  had  just  returned  to  her  indigent 
parents,  from  one  of  those  benevolent  institutions  where 
the  light  of  knowledge  is  poured  into  the  minds  of  these 
unfortunate  beings.  Bulah,  for  that  was  her  name,  was 
duly  inducted  into  office,  although  Nurse  could  only 
communicate  with  her  by  natural  signs.  She  had  a  re- 
markably sweet  and  earnest  face,  wonderfully  attractive 
to  Alfred ;  even  Mrs.  Fleming  was  won  by  it  to  treat 
her  with  uncommon  gentleness. 

Mrs.  Fleming  devoted  herself  entirely  to  Alfred,  and 
well  did  he  repay  her  efforts.  He  was  a  child  of  un- 
common sensibility  and  fine  talents.  He  loved  her  with 
all  the  ardor  of  his  affectionate  nature,  and  looked  up  to 
her  with  unbounded  reverence.  Having  known  only  his 


PRIDE.  251 

mother  and  Nurse  Pearson,  he  was  exceedingly  shy  and 
bashful,  and  Mrs.  Fleming  was  alarmed  for  the  conse- 
quences, when  he  should  be  compelled  to  mingle  with 
the  world. 

Bulah  had  been  some  months  in  the  house,  when 
Nurse  was  taken  ill.  The  physician  was  called,  and 
pronounced  her,  at  once,  in  great  danger.  Mrs.  Flem- 
ing nursed  her  with  the  greatest  possible  tenderness,  for 
many  weeks,  assisted  only  by  Bulah.  She  knew  that 
there  was  now  no  hope  of  her  recovery,  yet  was  unwill- 
ing to  impart  the  fearful  tidings  to  her  humble,  faithful 
friend.  One  evening,  much  exhausted  with  fatigue,  she 
went  to  her  room  to  sleep  for  a  few  hours,  that  she 
might  be  prepared  to  watch  through  the  night.  Alfred 
was  left,  with  Bulah,  to  sit  by  the  sick  woman.  Nurse 
called  him  to  her  bed-side,  and  looked  anxiously  in  his 
face. 

"Pearson,"  said  he,  "are  you  going  to  heaven? 
Bulah  says  she  hopes  you  are." 

Poor  Nurse  was  astonished  that  the  dumb  should  tell 
him  this.  Alfred  explained,  that,  since  she  had  been  ill, 
he  had  been  often  left  alone  with  Bulah,  who  had  taught 
him  the  finger  alphabet,  and  many  of  the  signs  used  by 
mutes. 

"  She  says,  dear  Nurse,  that  if  you  are  good,  you 
will  go  to  that  beautiful  place,  where  Christ  lives,  with 
the  holy  angels." 

«  Do  they  think,  Alfred,  that  I  shall  die  soon  ?" 

"  Very  soon,"  was  the  child's  simple  reply. 

There  was  a  pause  for  some  minutes,  and  then  a  deep 
groan  :  —  «  O,  I  am  afraid  to  die  !" 

Alfred  spelt,  on  his  little  fingers,  the  mournful  words 
to  Bulah,  who  replied,  —  "Tell  her  that  Jesus  Christ 
died  to  save  sinners." 


252 

Alfred,  in  a  voice  of  tender  solemnity,  repeated  the 
words. 

"0,  I  am  a  poor,  ignorant  creature!"  exclaimed  the 
alarmed  Nurse.  "  Who  will  tell  me  what  to  do  ?" 

"  But  mother  is  not  ignorant,"  said  Alfred.  "  She 
knows  every  thing." 

"Alas!  I  fear  she  does  not  know  the  way  of  sal- 
vation." 

"  Bulah  does,  though,  for  she  learnt  it  in  her  Bible. 
She  reads  it  every  day,  two  or  three  times,  and  when  I 
asked  her  what  made  her  love  it  so  much,  she  said,  it 
taught  her  the  way  of  salvation." 

"  And  has  the  dumb  been  taught  to  speak,  and  the 
child  to  understand  these  things,  that  I  might  not  go 
down  to  the  grave  without  warning?" 

"  I  can  bring  Bulah's  Bible,  and  read  to  you,  Nurse. 
Shall  I  ?" 

Nurse  thanked  him,  and  he  brought  the  well-worn 
book. 

"What  shall  I  read,  Nurse?" 

"Ask  Bulah." 

The  dumb  girl  found  the  fifty-first  Psalm.  With  a 
sweet,  solemn  voice,  Alfred  read  those  breathings  of 
penitential  woe,  those  earnest  cries  for  mercy;  while 
the  deep  sighs  and  streaming  tears  of  the  nurse  attested 
that  her  heart  went  up  to  the  mercy-seat  with  the  inspired 
Psalmist. 

"  And  now,  Nurse,  Bulah  says  you  are  tired,  and  I 
must  not  read  to  you  any  longer ;  but  we  will  come 
again,  and  I  will  ask  her  what  I  shall  say  then.  Good 
bye  till  I  see  you  to-morrow."  And,  kissing  Nurse's 
forehead,  Alfred  left  the  room. 

When   Mrs.  Fleming   returned,   and  was  seated  by 


PRIDE.  253 

Nurse  Pearson,  to  watch  with  her  through  the  long 
night,  the  poor  woman  fixed  her  eyes  anxiously  upon 
her,  saying,  —  "  Do  you  think  I  shall  recover?" 

"  I  hope  so,"  was  the  brief  reply. 

Nurse  made  no  farther  inquiry,  but  remained  a  long 
time  silent,  apparently  engaged  in  fervent  devotion.  Mrs. 
Fleming  then  heard  her  faintly  articulate  the  words, — 
"  Jesus  Christ  died  for  sinners."  She  arose,  and,  stoop- 
ing over  her,  asked  if  she  wished  for  any  thing.  The 
dying  woman  lifted  her  hand,  and  indistinctly  murmured, 
—  «  Tell  Alfred,"  —  «  Heaven,"  —  «  Prepare,"  —  and 
sank  into  insensibility.  Mrs.  Fleming  summoned  Bulah 
immediately,  and  sent  her  for  the  physician.  When  he 
arrived,  Nurse  Pearson  was  no  more.  He  had  been  very 
kind  and  attentive  during  her  illness,  and  now  relieved 
Mrs.  Fleming  from  all  care  of  the  burial  of  her  faithful 
nurse. 

By  the  advice  of  the  physician,  who  observed  that 
Alfred  was  painfully  diffident,  Mrs.  Fleming  urged  him 
to  mingle  with  some  of  the  boys  of  his  own  age,  who 
played  upon  the  village  green.  The  doctor's  own  son, 
of  his  age,  was  brought  to  "  the  widow's  cottage,"  and 
they  were  made  acquainted.  Alfred's  timidity  gradually 
gave  way,  so  that  he  frequently  joined  in  their  merry 
sports  and  gambols. 

Mrs.  Fleming  was  one  of  those  who  never  mention 
the  dead.  Alfred  was  told  by  her,  with  kindness,  but 
decision,  that  he  must  never  speak  of  Nurse  Pearson 
more,  as  it  was  too  painful  to  think  of  her  now.  She 
repeated  the  unconnected  words,  the  last  words  of  the 
dying  woman,  saying  that  she  did  not  know  what  they 
meant. 

« I  know,  I  know,"  said  Alfred,  with  joyful  anima- 
22 


254  THE  YOUNG  LADY5S  HOME. 

tion.  «  She  meant  that  she  was  going  to  heaven,  and 
that  we  must  all  prepare  to  go  there." 

"  I  hope  so  ;  but  we  will  say  no  more  about  it ;  it  is 
a  very  painful  subject." 

It  was  a  cool  evening  in  autumn.  The  leaves  were 
already  rustling  with  every  breeze,  sounding  like  the  low, 
melancholy  requiem  of  the  departing  year,  filling  with 
solemnity  the  thoughtful  mind,  and  with  sadness  the  im- 
aginative. Mrs.  Fleming  sat  by  her  little  window,  waiting 
for  Alfred,  who  was  at  play  upon  the  green.  Gloomy 
thoughts  oppressed  her  heart ;  the  past,  so  full  of  dark 
events,  would  intrude.  She  endeavored  to  chase  away 
these  recollections;  but  twilight  and  autumn  are  impor- 
tunate prompters  to  sober  contemplation.  In  vain  Ag- 
nes tried  to  summon  cheerful  visions  of  the  future ;  she 
endeavored  to  laugh  at  what  she  considered  weakness 
of  mind  and  superstition.  She  was  startled  from  her 
reverie  by  the  hasty  approach  of  Alfred  ;  his  face  was 
bruised  and  scratched,  his  neat  ruffle  stained  with  blood, 
clothes  covered  with  dust,  and  eyes  red  and  swollen 
with  crying.  Mrs.  Fleming,  intensely  alarmed,  endea- 
vored to  learn  what  was  the  matter,  but  in  vain  ;  neither 
threatenings,  entreaty,  nor  commands  could  prevail  upon 
Alfred  to  give  the  least  explanation.  For  the  first  time 
in  his  life  he  was  guilty  of  an  act  of  disobedience  to  his 
mother,  and  went  from  her,  sobbing  under  the  weight  of 
her  displeasure. 

While  Alfred  was  playing  with  the  boys  upon  the 
green,  a  ball  was  knocked  by  one  of  them  against  a 
window,  and  broke  a  pane  of  glass.  The  owner  came 
out  to  inquire,  and  the  boy  who  knocked  the  ball  pointed 
to  Alfred,  saying,  —  "It  was  his  ball  that  broke  your 
window."  Alfred  replied, —  "I  did  not  break  it,  Sir, 
but  I  can  pay  for  it."  So  saying,  he  took  out  a  little 


PRIDE.  255 

silk  purse,  and  emptying  the  contents  into  the  man's 
hand,  told  him  to  take  his  pay.  He  did  so,  and  returned 
the  remainder.  Among  the  silver  was  a  large  ancient 
gold  coin,  which  Mrs.  Fleming  had  given  him  upon  his 
ninth  birthday,  for  a  pocket-piece.  The  boy  who  had 
accused  him  of  breaking  the  window  was  angry,  as  they 
who  are  in  the  wrong  usually  are,  and,  as  soon  as  the 
man  had  entered  the  house,  said  to  Alfred, —  "I  won- 
der how  you  came  by  all  that  money." 

"  My  mother  gave  it  to  me,"  said  Alfred,  gently. 

"Well,  everybody  knows  your  mother  killed  your 
grandfather,  and  your  father,  too,  and  came  off  with  all 
their  money." 

"  Take  back  that  lie,"  said  Alfred. 

"  It  is  not  a  lie  ;  —  take  that,  you  coward !"  said  the 
boy,  giving  him  a  blow.  Alfred  endeavored  only  to 
act  upon  the  defensive,  but  he  was  much  smaller  than 
his  antagonist,  and  was  soon  thrown  upon  the  ground 
and  severely  beaten.  The  majority  of  the  boys  were 
of  course  with  the  victorious  party,  and  as  the  unoffend- 
ing Alfred  slowly  dragged  himself  from  the  playground, 
they  shouted,  —  « Don't  come  here  showing  your 
money  again ;  your  mother  is  a  proud  woman  ;  ask  her 
who  killed  Cock  Robin."  This  was  followed  by  a  burst 
of  laughter. 

When  Alfred  had  walked  some  distance  from  them, 
he  sat  down  by  the  side  of  the  road,  and  gave  vent  to 
his  wounded  feelings  in  heart-rending  sobs  and  burning 
tears.  His  mother,  his  beautiful,  his  learned,  his  per- 
fect mother,  —  what  could  all  this  mean  ?  He  remem- 
bered Kathleen's  words;  —  they  must  have  meant  the 
same  thing.  He  bravely  resolved  that  his  injured  mother 
should  know  nothing  about  it,  whatever  it  might  cost 
him ;  and  with  that  resolution  he  arose  and  went  home. 


256 


Alfred  was  a  changed  being;  the  "iron  had  entered 
into  his  soul."  He  could  no  more  be  persuaded  to  play 
with  the  boys.  Since  the  death  of  Nurse  Pearson,  he 
\vas  no  longer  left  alone  with  poor  Bulah,  although  she 
continued  faithfully  to  serve  his  mother.  He  would  sit 
thoughtful  and  abstracted  for  hours,  and  the  large  tears 
would  roll  down  his  rosy  cheeks.  Mrs.  Fleming  had 
several  times  surprised  him  with  his  eyes  sorrowfully 
fixed  upon  the  portrait  of  his  grandfather,  and  when  he 
was  observed  he  turned  suddenly  away.  She  had  often 
spoken  to  him  of  the  character  of  her  father,  and  pre- 
sented him  to  Alfred's  youthful  mind  as  the  model  for 
imitation,  —  the  highest  standard  of  excellence.  He 
had  another  standard  upon  which  he  pondered.  His 
studies  no  longer  interested  him.  The  suspicion  at 
length  arose,  that  some  one  had  poisoned  her  child's 
mind  with  the  calumny  that  she  knew  had  for  a  long  time 
been  circulated  in  the  village.  The  very  looks  of  the 
young  and  the  old  told  her  that  she  was  an  object  of 
suspicion  and  dislike.  Instead  of  humbling,  this  exalted 
her  in  her  own  estimation,  and  a  deep  sense  of  injustice 
increased  the  misanthropy  that  had  been  creeping  upon 
her  for  years. 

Alfred's  health  was  rapidly  failing.  Mrs.  Fleming 
entreated  him  to  ramble  abroad  with  her,  although  the 
weather  was  cold ;  and  with  much  reluctance  he  con- 
sented. If  he  saw  any  of  his  former  companions  in  the 
street,  he  would  persuade  his  mother  to  cross  over  to 
the  other  side  to  avoid  them.  He  had  done  this  several 
times,  when  one  day  the  boy  who  had  beaten  him  so  un- 
mercifully determined  he  should  not  so  escape ;  he  yelled, 
in  a  triumphant  voice,  —  "Coward,  are  you  afraid  I 
shall  fight  you  again  for  telling  me  I  lie  ?  Who  killed 
your  father?"  Alfred  grasped  his  mother's  hand  and 


PRIDE.  257 

trembled  exceedingly,  but  made  an  effort  to  continue 
conversation  as  if  he  had  not  observed  the  savage  con- 
duct of  the  ruthless  boy.  The  conflicting  emotions  in 
Mrs.  Fleming's  mind  were  terrible.  Anger,  contempt, 
astonishment,  and  pride  raged  in  her  bosom ;  above 
them  all,  pride  at  length  rose  predominant.  She  had 
never  spoken  to  Alfred  of  his  father,  —  she  could  not 
do  it  now.  She  could  not  endure  the  self- degradation  of 
defending  her  conduct  to  her  child,  —  of  denying  such  a 
horrible  crime.  Her  step  was  more  firm,  her  bearing 
more  lofty,  than  ever ;  the  scorn  that  darted  like  lightning 
from  her  eyes,  and  played  about  her  mouth,  rendered  her 
countenance  absolutely  fearful.  Alfred,  as  he  caught  a 
glimpse  of  it,  shuddered  as  if  he  had  seen  a  serpent  in 
his  path. 

There  was  now  an  impassable  gulf  between  mother 
and  child.  Alfred  never  cherished  a  momentary  belief 
that  his  mother  was  guilty  of  crime.  His  deepest  sor- 
row was,  that  she  should  suffer  from  such  calumny. 
But  then  there  was  mystery,  —  inscrutable  mystery, — 
and  day  after  day  he  dwelt  upon  it ;  he  pondered,  con- 
jectured, and  despaired  of  solving  it.  Meantime  his 
health  was  rapidly  declining.  Mrs.  Fleming  resolved  to 
quit  a  place  where  she  had  met  with  such  cruel  injustice  ; 
but  before  she  could  make  arrangements  for  leaving, 
Alfred  was  so  ill  as  to  demand  all  her  attention.  The 
most  skilful  physician,  from  a  distant  town,  was  sum- 
moned as  counsel  with  the  kind  physician  of  the  village. 
The  disease  baffled  their  skill  to  discover  its  cause  or 
remedy.  Mrs.  Fleming,  to  cheer  him,  painted  bright 
pictures  of  future  happiness  in  this  world.  She  told 
him  of  his  beautiful  house  and  its  splendid  furniture, — of 
the  immense  wealth  he  would  inherit.  He  smiled  a 
22* 


258  THE  YOUNG  LADY'S  HOME. 

sweet  and  radiant  smile,  for  his  treasures  were  laid  up 
in  heaven.  His  affectionate  Bulah  was  sometimes  al- 
lowed to  sit  by  his  bedside,  and  with  her  he  held  high 
and  holy  communings.  Mrs.  Fleming  had  not  allowed 
one  despairing  thought  to  cross  her  mind.  She  believed 
that  returning  spring  and  change  of  scene  would  restore 
her  darling  boy  to  perfect  health. 

He  faded  as  fades  the  young  and  beautiful  tree, 
stricken  at  the  root,  its  branches  fair  and  green  to  the 
last.  The  rose  had  deepened  upon  his  cheek,  but  it 
was  the  false,  deluding  hectic  of  consumption,  and  the 
brilliancy  of  the  eyes  told  of  the  presence  of  that  fell 
destroyer  of  the  young  and  lovely.  Subdued  to  the 
gentleness  of  the  lamb,  and  taught  by  the  Spirit  of 
Truth  to  look  beyond  this  world  with  a  holy  religious 
hope,  to  be  released  from  such  a  world,  so  cold  and 
cruel,  was  joy  to  Alfred,  except  when  he  thought  of  his 
desolate  mother.  Stern  and  repulsive  to  all  but  him, 
he  was  now  the  only  being  whom  she  loved.  Once, 
and  only  once,  did  Alfred  speak  to  his  mother  of  his 
departure.  "  Do  you  remember,  dear  mamma,  Nurse's 
last  words  ?  '  Heaven !'  —  <  Prepare !'  That  heaven 
will  soon  be  my  home.  Jesus  Christ  has  gone  before  me, 
and  I  am  not  afraid.  Dearest  mother,  prepare  for  death." 

He  died !  His  mother  alone  stood  by  his  death-bed, 
and  closed  his  eyes  for  their  last  sleep. 

****** 

And  there  she  sat,  watching  her  dead.  A  gentle 
knock  at  the  door  was  thrice  repeated  before  it  gained 
attention.  Mrs.  Fleming  arose  and  opened  it  mechan- 
ically. It  was  a  clergyman,  a  venerable  man,  a  father 
in  Israel.  Bulah  had  run  for  him,  and  in  her  mute,  but 
exjyessive  language  communicated  the  melancholy  sit- 
uation of  the  desolate  widow.  He  had  often  met  Mrs. 


PRIDE.  259 

Fleming  in  his  walks,  but,  as  she  never  was  seen  within 
the  church,  could  not  consider  her  as  his  parishioner. 
He  had  regarded  her  with  pity,  even  while  she  remind- 
ed him  of  the  words  of  the  wise  man,  —  "Pride  goeth 
before  destruction,  and  a  haughty  spirit  before  a  fall." 

He  walked  to  the  bed-side,  and,  leaning  over  that 
blighted  flower,  the  large  tears  rolled  over  his  venerable 
face.  He  turned,  took  the  widow's  hand,  and  said, 
—  "Daughter,  the  Lord  hath  touched  thee."  He 
spoke  in  tones  of  sweet,  affectionate,  soothing  kind- 
ness, then,  kneeling,  made  a  touching  appeal  in  her 
behalf  to  the  God  of  mercy.  The  unwonted  sounds 
melted  the  icy  apathy  that  benumbed  her  soul,  and 
Agnes  wept.  Few,  however,  were  the  words  that  the 
good  man  uttered,  —  his  own  heart  was  too  full.  On 
parting,  he  commended  her  to  the  compassionate  friend 
of  the  widow  of  Nain ;  that  merciful  Saviour  who  had 
"  broken  to  heal  and  make  whole." 

On  leaving  the  house  the  good  minister  went  home 
to  his  wife  and  daughter,  and  pleading  with  them  the 
cause  of  the  widow,  whom  they,  like  the  other  villagers, 
had  feared  and  avoided,  persuaded  them  to  go  to  her 
house  and  perform  every  act  of  kindness  that  her  situa- 
tion demanded. 

That  heart,  which  had  exalted  itself  in  prosperity, 
had  enveloped  itself,  fold  after  fold,  with  pride  at  neg- 
lect and  suspicion,  had  hardened  under  calumny  and 
injustice,  and  frozen  to  dull  apathy  under  the  last  mis- 
ery, now  melts  with  penitential  sorrow.  The  worm  of 
the  dust  that  had  lifted  up  its  head,  saying,  "  I  am  per- 
fect, who  shall  condemn  me?"  exclaims  with  Job, — 
"  I  have  heard  of  Thee  by  the  hearing  of  the  ear,  but 
now  mine  eye  seeth  Thee.  Wherefore  I  abhor  my- 


260 


self  and  repent."     "  The  Lord  gave  and  the  Lord  hath 
taken  away;  blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord." 
****** 

"  Man  that  is  born  of  a  woman  hath  but  a  short  time 
to  live,  and  is  full  of  misery.  He  cometh  up,  and  is 
cut  down  like  a  flower." 

"  Earth  to  earth,  ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust." 

"  I  heard  a  voice  from  heaven,  saying  unto  me, 
Write,  From  henceforth,  blessed  are  the  dead  which-  die 
in  the  Lord.  Even  so,  saith  the  Spirit ;  for  they  rest 
from  their  labors." 

"  The  last  deep  prayer  was  said,"  the  last  green  sod 
laid  over  the  grave  of  the  sainted  Alfred ;  and  the  rev- 
erend man  took  the  bereaved  desolate  one  and  the  poor 
Bulah  to  his  own  home. 

Agnes  told  him  all  her  story.  He  knew  the  sinful- 
ness  of  the  human  heart,  he  knew  the  world,  and  believ- 
ed the  melancholy  tale.  She  deplored  her  inordinate 
pride.  "  Daughter,  it  was  a  grievous  fault,  and  griev- 
ously have  you  answered  it." 

"And  she  is  sometimes  happy  now 

But  yet  her  happiness  is  not 
Such  as  the  buoyant  heart  may  know, 

And  it  is  blended  with  her  lot 
To  chasten  every  smile  with  tears, 

And  look  on  life  with  tempered  gladness,— 
That  undebased  by  human  fears 

Her  Hope  can  smile  on  Memory's  sadness, 
Like  sunshine  on  the  falling  rain,  .   < 

Or  as  the  moonlight  on  the  cloud. 

"Her  ear  is  ope  to  sorrow's  call, 

Her  ready  hand  lends  aid  to  all 
Who  claim  her  love  and  care ; 

She  scatters  blessings  like  the  dew, 
And  waiteth  for  her  summons,  where 
The  pure  in  heart  their  love  renew." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  CLAIMS  OF  SOCIETY. 

"I  'm  weary  of  the  crowded  ball ;  I  'm  weary  of  tie  mirth 
Which  never  lifts  itself  above  the  grosser  things  of  earth ; 
I  'rn  weary  of  the  flatterer's  tone  ;  its  music  is  no  more, 
And  eye  and  lip  may  answer  not  its  meaning  as  before ; 
I'm  weary  of  the  heartless  throng,  —  of  being  deemed  as  one 
Whose  spirit  kindles  only  in  the  blaze  of  fashion's  sun. 
Away !  I  will  not  fetter  thus  the  spirit  God  hath  given, 
Nor  stoop  the  pinion  back  to  earth  that  beareth  up  to  Heaven." 

WHITTIEU. 
i 

IF  a  claim  be  made  upon  the  purse  or  the  real  estate 
of  any  one,  immediately  the  questions  are  asked,  What 
right  has  the  person  to  make  this  claim  ?  What  is  the 
extent  of  it  ?  It  must  be  defined  precisely,  and  estab- 
lished legally,  before  it  will  be  allowed.  "  The  claims 
of  society"  is  a  phrase  that  is  iterated  and  reiterated, 
and  everybody  acknowledges  that  it  has  a  great  deal  of 
meaning,  excepting  only  the  misanthrope  and  the  an- 
chorite ;  while  it  is  extremely  difficult  to  decide  the 
extent  of  those  claims,  differing,  as  they  do,  in  almost 
every  individual  case. 

Then  what  do  we  mean  by  society  ?  Not  our  own 
family-circle,  the  very  heart's  core,  —  nor  the  next  cir- 
cle, consisting  of  kindred  and  intimate  friends,  —  nor 
still  the  next,  which  may  be  termed  the  circle  of  benev- 
olence,—  but  the  outer  circle,  widening  and  still  widen- 
ing till  lost  in  the  vanishing  distance.  And  this,  at  first 
sight,  seems  terra  incognita ;  yet  its  geography  and  to- 

(261) 


262  THE  YOUNG  LADY'S  HOME. 

pography  are  tolerably  well  understood,  although  the 
boundary-lines  are  not  quite  settled,  and  remain,  as  did 
our  north-eastern,  the  subject  of  contention  and  ani- 
mosity. Every  town  and  village  is  thus  divided  into 
sets,  determined  chiefly  by  the  station,  intelligence, 
wealth,  gentility,  and  fashion  of  their  members ;  and  my 
lady-reader  will  doubtless  think  it  quite  superfluous  to 
have  taken  all  this  pains  to  come  at  the  simple  fact, 
that  "  the  claims  of  society"  are  the  rightful  demands 
of  the  set  to  which  she  belongs,  and  the  strangers  who 
may  be  introduced  to  that  set.  Beside  general  benevo- 
lence and  good-will,  she  does  not  acknowledge  any 
claims  from  other  sets  or  coteries.  In  town,  what  are 
the  claims  of  the  set  or  circle  denominated  society  ? 
Bowing  in  the  street  and  at  public  places,  making  cere- 
monious calls,  giving  and  attending  dinner  and  evening 
parties.  In  the  country  they  are  much  the  same ;  for 
every  little  village  apes,  to  the  full  extent  of  its  ability, 
the  manners  and  customs  of  the  town. 

It  has  often  been  said,  that  the  character  of  a  nation 
can  be  determined  by  its  amusements  ;  by  this  criterion 
individual  character  can  be  ascertained  with  satisfactory 
precision.  Custom  reconciles  to  the  greatest  absurdi- 
ties, and  even  the  most  revolting  cruelties.  By  way  of 
amusement,  the  Roman  women  could  watch  with  in- 
tense interest  the  sanguine  gladiatorial  exhibition,  and 
behold  the  infuriated  wild  beast  let  loose  upon  the  mis- 
erable captive,  and  tear  in  pieces  the  holy  martyr. 
The  ladies  of  Christian  Europe,  in  the  boasted  days  of 
chivalry,  could  look  with  joyous  delight  upon  the  tour- 
nament, where  the  gallant  knight-errant  was  not  alone 
exposed  to  hard  blows,  wounds,  and  overthrow,  bitt  to 
death  itself;  for  the  interest  of  the  scene  was  of  course 


THE   CLAIMS   OF    SOCIETY.  263 

enhanced,  when,  in  defence  of  the  boasted  charms  of 
their  ladie-loves,  the  wise  and  valiant  knights  challenged 
each  other  to  mortal  combat.  The  dark-eyed  daugh- 
ters of  Spain  grace  with  their  dignified  presence  the 
horrid  bull-fights ;  and  the  fair  dames  of  England  often 
become  as  excited  as  the  gentlemen,  by  the  pleasures 
of  a  horse-race ;  and  (pardon  the  propinquity)  the 
lady-squaws  of  the  American  Indians  are  delighted 
spectators  of  the  savage  war-dance.  Custom  must 
have  amazing  power,  thus  to  change  the  very  nature  of 
\voman. 

If  the  amusements  of  our  own  country  are  disgraced 
by  no  such  revolting  features,  yet  there  may  be  some, 
which,  if  custom  did  not  cast  upon  them  a  very  becom- 
ing light,  would  look  absurdly  grotesque,  or  frightfully 

ugly- 

The  immoral  influence  of  the  theatre  is  so  generally 
acknowledged,  that  it  seems  unnecessary  to  dwell  upon 
it  here.  The  minds  of  the  pure  and  the  virtuous  revolt 
from  a  delineation  of  the  crowds  that  enter  its  polluted 
walls,  and  the  shocking  scenes  that  are  presented  as 
lessons  in  this  school  of  vice.  Its  defenders  talk  much 
of  its  "  holding  the  mirror  up  to  nature,"  and  thus 
teaching  morality  ;  the  author  of  the  phrase  is  guiltless 
of  the  intention,  or  the  act  of  supporting,  by  word  or 
works,  the  pseudo-morality  of  modern  theatres. 

Lord  Londonderry,  in  his  visit  to  Russia,  was  much 
surprised  at  the  splendor  and  neatness  of  the  ladies' 
dresses  at  the  court  of  the  autocrat ;  not  a  wrinkle 
nor  accidental  fold;  they  all  looked  fresh  from  the 
light  fingers  of  the  modiste.  On  inquiry,  his  Lordship 
learnt  that  they  were  all  brought  from  Paris,  the  mart 
of  fashion  for  the  world,  and  that  the  same  dress  was 


264 

never  worn  twice.  A  lady,  who  had  three  daughters 
in  society,  told  him,  that  their  dresses  each  cost  two 
hundred  roubles  for  an  evening ;  the  ornaments  were 
not  included.  Many  of  the  nobles  are  compelled  to 
mortgage  their  estates  to  live  in  the  style  they  are  ex- 
pected to  maintain.  This  display  is  for  the  purpose 
of  giving  imposing  splendor  and  elegance  to  a  court, 
ambitious  to  vie  with  other  European  courts  in  refine- 
ment and  taste  as  \vell  as  magnificence.  In  our  repub- 
lican country,  where  there  is  no  such  apology,  there 
is,  nevertheless,  an  universal  passion  for  display.  Are 
we  falsely  accused  of  it  by  foreigners,  as  the  ruling 
passion  ? 

"  Wend  ye  with  the  world  to-night  ?"  The  elegant 
mansion  is  blazing  in  the  full  effulgence  of  gas-light. 
Its  anxious  mistress  takes  a  last  survey  of  the  splendidly 
decorated  apartments,  and  then  a  last  look  at  herself  in 
a  mirror,  before  which  a  giantess  might  have  arranged 
her  paraphernalia,  from  top-knot  to  shoe-tie.  The  foot 
falls  soft  upon  the  luxurious  carpet,  whose  flowers 
seem  scattered  fresh  from  Flora's  munificent  hand. 
The  rich  and  beautiful  hangings  of  blue  damask  might 
have  been  thrown  by  the  Graces  over  those  golden 
arrows ;  a  Sybarite  would  have  luxuriated  upon  the 
velvet-covered  divan,  and  a  sultana  have  coveted  the 
embroidered  cushions  for  her  harern-throne.  Flowers, 
whose  parent  buds  dipped  their  pure  petals  in  the 
Nile,  whose  fragrance  floated  upon  the  breezes  of  Ja- 
pan, or  were  wasted  upon  the  dull  sense  of  the  Chinese, 
fill  the  air  with  mingled  perfume.  Oranges  hang  amid 
their  dark  leaves  in  exuberant  profusion,  tempting  to 
the  eye,  but  as  unsatisfying  to  the  taste,  as  bitter, 
as  the  "grapes  of  Gomorrah,"  presenting  to  the  lady 


THE    CLAIMS    OF    SOCIETY.  265 

of  the  mansion  an  apposite  emblem.  These  splendid 
preparations  were  to  have  astonished  some  of  her  most 
fashionable  acquaintances,  who,  instead  of  giving  eclat 
to  her  brilliant  assembly,  have  pleaded  "  a  previous 
engagement,"  and  grace  a  rival  party  in  an  adjoining 
street.  The  very,  very  persons  who,  of  all  the  world, 
she  had  exerted  herself  most  to  please  and  to  win,  have 
deserted  her  in  this  her  hour  of  anticipated  triumph. 
With  a  heavy  heart  she  chooses  the  most  becoming  at- 
titude and  eligible  position  for  the  reception  of  those  ac- 
cepting guests  whom  she  felt  constrained  to  invite,  but 
does  not  feel  exceedingly  desirous  to  see. 

The  rooms  are  filled,  crammed  like  a  drum  of  figs, — 
the  heat  intolerable,  —  dresses  are  crumpled  and  torn,  or 
cannot  be  seen  to  any  advantage.  "Is  it  not  strange 

the  So  and  So's  are  not  here  ?"  "  Mrs.  B is  «  at 

home'  to-night."  "O,  I  understand.  Well,  there  are 
the  Flingos  and  the  Flareups  ;  who  would  have  expected 
to  meet  them  here  ?  I  declare,  there  is  not  a  creature 
of  my  acquaintance  in  the  rooms  but  yourself." 

Music  and  compliments.  Then  a  push  for  the  dan- 
cing-room,—  floor  beautifully  chalked,  but  "  so  small 
you  might  as  well  get  up  a  set  of  quadrilles  in  a  bathing- 
tub."  A  rush  and  a  crush  for  tho  supper-room.  To 
the  table,  loaded  with  its  splendid  garniture  of  plate, 
porcelain,  and  glass,  every  clime  has  contributed  its  del- 
icacies, and  the  purple  vintage  from  many  a  sunny  hill 
supplied  the  sparkling  and  glowing  wines.  "  Can  you 
see  any  thing?"  "Nothing  but  the  top  of  a  pyramid, 
which  I  am  no  more  likely  to  reach  at  this  moment  than 
the  pyramid  of  Cheops."  "  Pray  take  something." 
"Thank  you,  I  never  taste  any  thing  in  a  party." 
"One  grape  only?"  "Not  for  the  world!"  "  Chick- 
23 


266  THE    YOUNG    LADY'S    HOME. 

en-salad  or  lobster-salad,  Sir,  or  do  you  prefer  a  bit  of 
the  pate  de  fois  gras  ?" 

Everybody  has  tried  to  see  and  be  seen,  and  neither 
wonder  nor  admire,  and  made  their  most  graceful 
conge.  The  sound  of  the  last  carriage  has  died  away, 
and  the  lady  of  the  mansion  retires  to  her  own  chamber. 
With  the  aid  of  Asmodeus  we  will  enter, —  or  perhaps 
Mephistopheles  would  give  more  efficient  aid  in  revealing 
the  lady's  secret  communings  with  her  own  heart.  "  I 
have  discharged  the  claims  of  society  to  their  full  satis- 
faction. How  much  have  I  promoted  the  happiness  of 
our  circle  ?  I  have  been  the  means  of  increasing  their 
kindly  feelings  towards  each  other,  —  of  allaying  the 
envy  and  jealousy  with  which  they  have  hitherto  been 
tormented.  By  discussing  their  plans  of  usefulness,  they 
have  caught  new  ardor  from  the  electric  spark  of  sym- 
pathy. They  will  be  cheered  by  these  healthsome 
hours  of  recreation  for  the  duties  of  the  morrow.  How 
sweet,  how  refreshing,  will  be  my  conscience-satisfied 
sleep!"  Ha!  did  we  hear  aright?  Mephistopheles 
must  have  played  us  false ;  for  look  at  that  care-worn, 
regretful  countenance,  as  she  lays  aside  her  costly  orna- 
ments before  the  faithful  mirror ;  such  is  not  the  expres- 
sion of  "  perfect  peace." 

And  you,  fair  reader,  what  are  your  reflections,  as 
you  rattle  over  the  pavement  on  your  way  homeward  ? 
"  I  have  been  amused  and  instructed  by  the  conversa- 
tion of  the  evening.  I  was  so  happy  to  meet  dear 
friends  and  pleasant  acquaintances,  and  hold  with  them 
that  kind,  cordial  intercourse,  that  makes  the  heart  glow 
with  benevolence  and  complacency.  How  extremely 

kind  it  was  for  Mrs. to  bring  her  friends  together 

for  an  evening  of  unalloyed  enjoyment,  at  such  an  ex- 


THE    CLAIMS    OF    SOCIETY.  267 

pense  of  time  and  money !  What  fine  taste  and  generous 
hospitality !  How  perfectly  well  she  can  afford  it ! 
How  invigorating  to  body  and  mind  is  the  healthful  exer- 
cise of  the  dancing-room !  How  cheerfully  shall  I  lay 
my  head  upon  my  pillow,  with  this  delightful  conscious- 
ness of  a  well-spent  evening!"  Has  Mephistopheles 
played  us  false  again  ? 

The  question  is  not,  whether  large  parties  are  morally 
wrong.  It  would  require  a  nice  casuist  to  decide  that 
to  be  wrong  for  two  hundred,  which  is  not  wrong  for 
twenty.  We  would  merely  inquire,  whether  parties, 
large  or  small,  usually  effect  the  object  for  which  they 
are,  or  ought  to  be,  designed ;  namely,  to  promote 
cheerfulness,  social  feeling,  intelligence,  kindness,  and 
healthful  recreation. 

Wearied  with  the  racking  toil  of  business,  or  the 
wear  and  tear  of  a  profession,  or  the  discord  of  politi- 
cal life,  or  the  intense  application  of  the  scholar,  men 
need,  occasionally,  a  rarer  atmosphere  for  the  lighter 
play  of  thought ;  a  fresh  field,  where  mind  may  be  di- 
verted awhile  from  those  deep-worn  channels  through 
which  it  rushes  so  impetuously.  They  seek  it  in  the 
society  of  "  the  gentler  sex,"  where  the  weightier  mat- 
ters of  life  are  not  to  be  brought  upon  the  carpet.  Thus 
seeking  refreshment  and  renewal  of  strength,  they  re- 
quire subjects  for  conversation  in  society  not  altogether 
destitute  of  material  for  intellectual  exercise ;  and  in 
their  companions,  something  better  than  dull  inanity  or 
flippant  insipidity.  Another  advantage  which  they  ought 
to  expect  from  female  society  is,  that  the  harsher  fea- 
tures of  their  characters,  and  the  ruggedness  of  their 
tempers,  may  be  softened ;  it  is  neutral  ground,  where 
rival  politicians  may  dismiss  those  bitter  feelings  and  that 


violent  animosity  too  often  engendered  by  party  strife, 
where  the  money-making  may  forget  their  worldliness, 
and  the  unsuccessful  their  disappointments. 

Every  American  woman  should  be  familiarly  ac- 
quainted with  the  history  of  her  own  country,  its  consti- 
tution and  form  of  government.  She  should  know  that 
the  stability  and  permanency  of  a  republic  depends  upon 
the  intellectual,  moral,  and  religious  character  of  the 
people;  upon  this  broad  principle  she  must  act,  and 
endeavor  to  induce  everybody  to  act,  over  whom  she 
exercises  influence.  To  enter  as  a  fiery  partisan  into 
the  contentions  of  political  opponents  is  unbecoming  the 
delicacy  and  dignity  of  female  character.  Men  talk 
much  of  a  conservative  principle.  We  trust  we  shall 
not  be  accused  of  presumptuousness  if  we  name  one  :  — 
A  high  moral  and  intellectual  character  in  the  women  of 
our  country,  that  shall  make  them  true  patriots,  preserv- 
ing a  consistent  neutrality,  and  exerting  their  influence 
for  the  good  of  the  whole.  Leaving  government,  and 
all  its  multifarious  concerns,  to  those  to  whom  the  all- 
wise  Creator  has  delegated  authority,  let  us  be  content 
with  that  influence  which  is  "pure,  peaceful,  gentle, 
without  partiality,  and  without  hypocrisy." 

Let  not  a  meddlesome  spirit,  in  matters  that  do  not 
concern  you,  mar  the  pleasures  of  social  intercourse. 
Must  they,  who  fly  to  your  society  for  relief  from  the 
jarrings  of  men,  be  teased  with  the  perpetual  din  ?  Has 
the  miasma  of  politics  infected  the  whole  moral  atmo- 
sphere ?  Is  there  no  elevated  ground,  where  they  can 
breathe  a  purer  air,  and  escape  for  a  while  into  a  serene 
and  tranquil  region  ?  We  remember,  some  time  since, 
hearing  a  gentleman  say  of  a  great  statesman,  who  was 
his  intimate  friend,  that,  in  the  society  of  an  amiable  and 


THE    CLAIMS    OF    SOCIETY.  269 

interesting  young  lady  whom  he  admired,  "  he  was 
like  a  great  mountain  by  the  side  of  a  little  flower,  and 
forgot  that  he  was  a  mountain." 

A  man  possessing  political  influence  is  sometimes,  in 
society,  beset  by  a  swarm  of  female  philanthropists, 
urging  their  claims,  or,  as  they  call  them,  the  claims  of 
humanity,  of  benevolence,  &c.  "  Now,  Sir,  you  can- 
not refuse  me  that  slight  favor."  "Do  vote,  for  my 
sake,  on  my  side;  I  shall  be  superlatively  grateful." 
What  is  a  gallant  man  to  do?  If  he  drive  off  this 
swarm,  like  the  fox  in  the  fable,  another  more  clamorous 
may  succeed,  until  he  is  robbed  of  every  drop  of  enjoy- 
ment in  society.  And  is  it  certain  that  every  politician 
has  principle  enough  to  withstand  these  fair  petitioners, 
when  they  urge  him  contrary  to  his  own  better  judg- 
ment? A  sage  and  potent  Senator,  one  of  the  most 
polite  and  elegant  men  in  the  world,  once  confessed  that 
he  left  the  Senate-chamber,  when  a  vote  was  taken  on  a 
question  in  which  a  splendid  woman  of  his  acquaintance 
was  deeply  interested,  because  he  could  not  vote  against 
her  while  her  dark  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  from  the 
gallery.  True,  it  was  a  question  of  no  great  importance 
to  the  welfare  of  the  country,  and  involved  no  party  in- 
terests ;  but  his  opinion  and  his-  vote  were  sacrificed  to 
his  chivalrous  gallantry. 

These  female  politicians,  among  themselves,  in  the 
heat  of  debate,  become  as  furious,  and  almost  as  noisy, 
as  a  throng  of  sailors  brought  up  to  the  ballot-box  ;  the 
spectator  almost  fears  that  they  will  come  to  pulling  caps, 
or  some  other  pugnacious  demonstration  of  ire.  If  ad 
vised  to  leave  an  arena  where  the  fiercer  passions  are 
thus  excited,  they  will,  peradventure,  accuse  the  adviser 
of  tameness  of  spirit,  want  of  intellectual  power,  or  of  a 
23* 


270  THE  YOUNG  LADY*S  HOME. 

just  appreciation  of  the  rights  of  woman*  Happily,  the 
great  majority  of  the  women  of  our  country,  in  spite  of 
female  demagogues,  still  appreciate  the  right  to  move  in 
the  calm,  sequestered  sphere  which  Heaven  in  mercy  or- 
dained for  them,  far  removed  from  the  heated,  murky 
atmosphere  of  politics.  Beware  of  those  who  would 
tempt  you  from  this  sphere,  as  Satan  tempted  Eve  from 
Eden.  Do  they  not  say  to  you,  that  you  occupy  an 
humble,  subordinate  degraded  station  ?  That  man  de- 
nies you  equality  of  rights,  — 

"Why,  but  to  awe? 
Why,  but  to  keep  ye  low  and  ignorant, 
His  worshippers?" 

Hapless,  deluded  Eve,  when  she  had  fallen  into  irreme- 
diable ruin  by  these  wiles,  began  to  plume  herself  upon 
the  attainment  of  Jier  rights,  and  to  reason  upon  the 
propriety  of  keeping  to  herself  the  "  odds  of  knowledge 
in  her  power,  without  a  partner!" 

"And  perhaps  — 

A  thing  not  undesirable  —  some  time 
Superior ;  for,  inferior,  who  is  free  ?" 

Mother  of  mankind !  Adam's  fervent  advice  to  thee 
may  still  apply  to  thine  erring  daughters :  — 

"0  woman,  best  are  all  things  as  the  will 
Of  God  ordained  them  ;  his  creating  hand 
Nothing  imperfect  or  deficient  left 
Of  all  that  he  created  ;  much  less  man, 
Or  aught  that  might  his  happy  state  secure, 
Secure  from  outward  force ;  within  himself 
The  danger  lies,  yet  lies  within  his  power ; 
Against  his  will  he  can  receive  no  harm. 
But  God  left  free  the  will ;  for  what  obeys 
Reason  is  free;  and  reason  be  made  right, 
But  bid  her  well  beware,  and  still  erect; 
Lest,  by  some  fair-appearing  good  surprised, 
She  dictate  false,  and  misinform  the  will 
To  do  what  God  expressly  hath  forbid. 


THE    CLAIMS   OF    SOCIETY.  271 

Not  then  mistrust,  but  tender  love,  enjoins, 

That  I  should  mind  thee  oft;  and  mind  mou  me. 

Seek  not  temptation  then,  which  to  avoid 

Were  better. 

Wouldst  thou  approve  thy  constancy,  approve 

First  thy  obedience. 

For  God  towards  thee  hath  done  his  part;  —  do  thine." 

If  some  men  seek  society  for  relaxation  from,  severe 
mental  application,  there  are  others  who  consider  it  as 
only  one  mode  of  that  amusement,  which  is  the  occupa- 
tion of  their  lives.  These  prefer  that  frivolity  and  non- 
sense should  reign  with  undisputed  sway  in  ladies'  soci- 
ety. That  in  the  giddy  whirl,  not  only  sober  thought, 
but  the  very  semblance  of  thought,  should  be  annihi- 
lated. They  are  contented  with  the  whip,  and  care  not 
for  the  cream,  of  conversation,  which,  in  conscience,  is 
light  enough ;  and  it  must  be  confessed,  that  many  young 
ladies  show  a  very  accommodating  spirit  in  yielding  to 
their  taste. 

Because  pedantry  is  odious,  and  blues  are  voted  ri- 
diculous, there  is  no  reason  why  modest  learning  and 
real  intelligence  should  be  proscribed.  Women  often 
mingle  in  society,  to  escape  for  a  while  from  petty  cares, 
and  merely  mechanical  employments,  which  would  oth- 
erwise be  so  monopolizing,  that  by  constant  devotion  to 
them  they  would  be  rendered  selfish  and  narrow-minded. 
After  giving  up  their  studies,  when  school-education  is 
completed,  they  have  but  little  leisure  for  gaining  know- 
ledge, while  men  of  education  find  no  resting-place.  It 
is  too  late  in  the  day  to  revive  the  time-worn,  hackneyed 
dispute  about  the  mental  equality  of  the  .sexes ;  let  it 
rest  in  the  tomb  of  the  Capulets.  In  mixed  society, 
they  may  meet  on  terms  of  equality ;  they  do  not  come 
together  to  make  invidious  comparisons;  they  expect 


272 

no  admirable  Crichton,  nor  astonishing  Maria  Agnesi,  to 
contend  for  an  intellectual  prize,  to  be  borne  off  in  tri- 
umph. 

But  neither  should  the  ultra-refinement  of  society  de- 
stroy that  individuality  of  character  which  gives  zest 
to  human  life.  It  is  this  refining  and  polishing  process, 
reducifig  all  natures  to  a  seeming  resemblance  to  a  fash- 
ionable standard,  that  renders  society  dull,  vapid,  and 
unprofitable.  The  whole  works  of  creation  may,  by 
some  peculiar  characteristics,  be  ranked  in  classes ;  yet 
no  two  of  any  species  are  in  all  respects  similar.  So  it 
is  with  the  lords  of  all  created  things,  upon  this  well 
ordered  earth;  there  are  peculiarities  and  associations 
of  qualities,  which  mark  the  individual  character  of  each 
human  being.  He  who  comes  to  the  warfare  of  life 
armed  by  his  own  suspicious  nature  against  all  deceit 
will  never  be  thrown  off  his  guard ;  whilst  the  confiding 
and  unsuspecting,  though  experience  may  have  obliged 
them  to  don  the  armor  of  prudence,  will  still  leave  crev- 
ices through  which  the  arrows  of  the  designing  may 
pierce  to  the  very  heart.  Upon  the  thorn-bush  blos- 
soms the  rose  in  its  native  simplicity ;  cultivation  may 
vary  its  size  and  beauty,  ad  infinitum^  but  still  it  is  a 
rose ;  the  dahlia  by  its  side  may  rival  it  in  brilliancy, 
but  not  in  delicate  texture  and  delicious  perfume.  Thus 
modest  sensibility  and  warmth  of  heart  may  stand  in  so- 
ciety side  by  side  with  keen  wit  and  sparkling  vivaci- 
ty. The  collision  of  different  characters  will  bring  out 
difference  of  opinion,  without  destroying  the  harmony 
of  society.  Here,  as  in  the  economy  of  the  material 
universe,  there  is  a  centripetal  and  centrifugal  force. 
The  man  of  cool  temperament  checks  his  passionate 
friend  ;  the  charitable  repairs  the  evil  done  by  the  cen- 


THE   CLAIMS   OF    SOCIETY.  273 

sorious ;  the  timid  and  diffident  .are  encouraged  by  the 
bold  and  daring;  the  man  of  persevering  common  sense 
puts  into  execution  the  plans  devised  by  the  less  patient 
man  of  genius.  Each  should  avoid  the  affectation  of 
characteristics  which  he  does  not.  possess.  As  the  coun- 
teracting muscles  of  the  arm,  by  acting  different  ways, 
perfect  their  usefulness,  so  these  varieties  of  character 
give  energy  and  power  to  society. 

If  all  go  into  society,  as  to  a  mental  masquerade, 
where  each  is  acting  a  studied  part,  how  much  both  of 
utility  and  pleasure  must  be  lost !  We  should  lose  the 
agreeable  surprise  arising  from  the  discovery  of  a  vein  of 
golden  ore,  where  we  had  only  seen  common  clay ;  of 
striking  out  a  latent  spark  of  genius,  which  seclusion  had 
hidden  even  from  its  possessor ;  of  seeing  the  warm  tear 
of  benevolence  in  the  earnest  eye  of  one  deemed  cold 
and  calculating.  No  man's  self-love  would  permit  him 
to  view  his  exact  counterpart  with  good  feelings ;  for 
though  we  love  to  see  our  opinions  reflected  by  our 
friends,  who  could  bear  to  be  mirrored  forth  by  thou- 
sands to  whom  he  was  indifferent  ? 

Preserving,  then,  that  individuality  of  character  which 
gives  delightful  variety  to  society,  all  should  bring  to  it 
affability,  good-sense,  good  taste,  and  kind  feeling. 

The  literature  of  the  day,  improvement  in  the  arts, 
discoveries  in  science,  the  important  events  that  are  tak- 
ing place  in  the  world,  the  efforts  being  made  for  the  dif- 
fusion of  knowledge  and  religion,  —  these,  and  a  thou- 
sand other  interesting  topics,  men  might  talk  about  in  the 
society  of  ladies,  without  lowering  their  own  minds,  or 
elevating  beyond  their  capacity  those  of  their  auditors, 
or  rather  colloquists ;  for  it  is  assumed,  that  here  they 
meet  on  terms  of  perfect  equality.  If  it  be  said,  that  by 


274 

courtesy  it  is  left  for  the  ladies  to  take  the  lead,  then 
they  are  to  blame  if  they  find  no  higher  themes  for  en- 
tertainment than  fashions,  beauty  ,*dress,  manners,  flat- 
tery, and  scandal.  Making  large  allowance  for  their 
fondness  for  these  topics,  candor  must  acknowledge,  that 
modesty  in  many  instances,  and  the  fear  of  ridicule  in 
others,  deter  them  from  bringing  forward  other  less  trifling 
subjects,  in  which  they  are  deeply  interested.  Cicero 
says  of  silence, — "  There  is  not  only  an  art,  but  an  elo- 
quence in  it"  ;  let  then  your  silence  be  eloquent,  when- 
ever frivolous  or  unsuitable  subjects  are  introduced ;  it 
is  often  the  only  delicate  way  in  which  you  can  manifest 
disapprobation. 

Acknowledging  that  society  has  claims,  and  that  you 
are  to  maintain  kind  and  friendly  relations  with  the  circle 
to  which  you  belong ;  yet  neither  these  claims,  nor  your 
love  of  display,  nor  your  fondness  for  amusement,  should 
lead  you  to  the  sacrifice  of  personal  happiness  and  of 
principle. 

The  frequent  demands  upon  the  purse,  from  young 
ladies  who  wish  to  make  a  splendid  appearance  in  society, 
are  often  reluctantly  answered  by  the  purse-bearer,  and 
should,  if  justice  were  heeded,  not  seldom,  be  denied. 
While  debts  are  unpaid,  and  the  hire  of  the  laborer  is 
withheld,  conscience  should  not  let  any  one  remain  at 
ease  and  self-satisfied  in  magnificent  apparel.  The  old 
fable  of  the  daw  in  peacock's  feathers  might,  in  such  a 
case,  be  admirably  exemplified,  were  the  milliner,  man- 
tua-maker,  and  jeweller  each  to  claim  their  own  share 
of  a  fashionable  belle's  gay  adornings.  And  the  fine 
horses  and  splendid  equipage,  which  a  fond  father,  to 
gratify  a  daughter's  pride,  has  raised  by  the  magic  wand 
of  credit,  might,  if  touched  by  the  sword  of  justice,  be 


THE   CLAIMS    OF   SOCIETY.  275 

transformed  like  Cinderella's,  into  rags,  mice,  and  a 
pumpkin-shell.  It  is  urged  in  defence  of  the  luxuries 
of  the  rich,  that  they  are  the  support  of  the  poor.  Some 
political  economists  deny  this.  Be  that  as  it  may,  —  no 
one  can  deny  that  the  extravagancy  of  the  reputed  rich 
greatly  increases  the  misery  and  sufferings  of  the  poor. 
The  pale  sempstress  or  mantuamaker,  who  has  toiled  all 
day  for  you,  goes,  perhaps,  like  Kate  Nickleby,  to  the 
home  of  indigence  and  sorrow  unpaid,  to  weep  over  the 
woes  she  cannot  relieve  by  her  untiring  industry ;  while 
you,  fair  reader,  array  yourself,  with  a  light  heart  and 
gay  smile,  in  that  dress  which  her  skill  has  wrought  into 
its  graceful  elegance.  Could  you  wear  it  cheerfully,  if 
you  knew  her  to  be  suffering  for  the  reward  of  her  labor  ? 
Certainly  not ;  yet  you,  and  thousands  of  others,  forget 
that  every  dollar  is  usually  wanted  immediately,  by  those 
who  thus  earn  their  daily  subsistence. 

It  may  be  said  in  self-defence,  that  a  young  lady  sel- 
dom knows  the  extent  of  her  father's  pecuniary  resources. 
That  may  be ;  yet,  if  she  receive  a  regular  allowance, 
she  can  be  certain  that  no  one  suffers  directly  through 
her ;  and  if  not,  she  should  never  employ  work-women 
without  knowing  positively,  beforehand,  that  she  can 
pay  them  as  soon  as  their  work  is  done.  Justice  should 
be  satisfied  before  pride. 

Benevolence  must  not  be  set  aside  for  more  vociferous 
but  less  worthy  claimants.  Vanity  may  sometimes  De 
denied  an  additional  flower  or  feather  without  disparage- 
ment ;  fashion  be  boldly  confronted,  in  a  dress  un  pen 
passe,  worn  for  charity's  sake ;  and  pleasure's  frown 
need  not  be  dreaded,  if,  instead  of  wreathing  her  roses 
around  your  own  brow,  you  sometimes  extract  from 
them  the  balm  of  consolation. 


X 

276  THE  YOUNG  LADY'S  HOME. 

Does  society  claim  an  exorbitant  share  of  time? 
This  sacrifice  is  often  yielded  as  if  demanded  by  that 
"  necessity  that  knows  no  law."  The  hours  spent  in 
society  are  but  a  small  proportion  of  the  time  thus 
yielded ;  previous  preparation  for  these  hours  makes  a 
far  more  exorbitant  demand.  Tasteful  embroidery  and 
fine  needlework  afford  pleasant  occupation  to  young 
ladies ;  but  when  employed  solely  for  the  decoration  of 
the  person,  they  may  be  treacherous  monopolizers.  One 
young  lady  has  been  known  to  spend  two  months  upon 
the  trimming  to  a  ball-dress ;  and  another,  a  half  year 
upon  an  embroidered  satin  dress.  Patient,  persevering 
industry,  which,  applied  to  better  purposes  than  the  gra- 
tification of  vanity  and  selfishness,  would  deserve  high 
encomium;  and,  perhaps,  after  all  this  pains-taking, 
society  would  have  been  as  well  pleased  without  the  trim- 
ming and  embroidery.  The  choice  of  a  dress  for  a 
single  evening  often  costs  many  hours  of  meditation, 
—  and  distracting  doubts  between  rival  colors,  many 
more.  The  toilet  demands  much  time ;  to  all  these, 
add  the  time  spent  abroad  in  shopping,  and  the  time  in 
society,  —  they  make  up  a  large  amount,  leaving  but  a 
meagre  modicum  for  home  and  its  duties. 

Fashionable  morning  visits.  Who  has  not  uttered  her 
testimony  against  them  as  time-stealers,  and  stupid  ones, 
too  ?  yet  who  would  say,  they  can  be  entirely  dispensed 
with  ?  Not  she  who  hopes  during  her  round  of  visits  to 
leave  more  cards  than  viva  voce  compliments  ;  nor  even 
she  who  would  gladly  make  more  cordial  and  less  un- 
meaning visits. 

Do  you  sacrifice  health  to  the  claims  of  society? 
We  have,  in  a  former  chapter,  alluded  to  the  danger  of 
exposure  after  standing  or  dancing  for  hours  in  heated 


THE   CLAIMS    OF   SOCIETY  277 

rooms.  If  all  the  young  and  lovely  who  have  thus  been 
hurried  to  their  graves  could  be  summoned  to  bear  tes- 
timony to  those  who  still  expose  themselves  in  this  man- 
ner, the  cloud  of  witnesses  would  strike  terror  and  dis- 
may to  many  a  gay  and  thoughtless  heart.  Dancing  may 
be  a  healthsome  and  delightful  exercise  at  home,  or 
where  there  is  ample  verge  and  pure  free  air ;  but  in  the 
cramped  confines  of  the  drawing-room  and  the  crowded 
ball-room,  where  the  exhausted  atmosphere  renders 
respiration  difficult  and  laborious,  such  exercise  cannot 
be  beneficial.  No  wonder  the  Chinese,  on  seeing  the 
efforts  of  English  gentlemen  and  ladies  under  these  cir- 
cumstances, exclaimed  with  exultation,  —  "  We  hire  our 
dancing  done  in  China." 

Late  hours  at  night,  continued  for  a  length  of  time, 
give  a  sallowness  to  the  complexion,  indicating  that 
health  is  on  the  wane.  The  restorative  virtues  of  morn- 
ing air  seldom  lend  their  aid  to  freshen  the  departing 
bloom  ;  the  fatigue  and  exhaustion  of  a  night  of  gayety 
are  frequent  preludes  to  a  morning  headache  and  a  train 
of  attendant  evil  sprites. 

"  Canst  thou  forego  the  pure  ethereal  soul, 
In  each  fine  sense  so  exquisitely  keen, 
On  the  dull  couch  of  luxury  to  loll, 

Stung  with  disease,  and  stupefied  with  spleen? 

"0,  how  canst  thou  renounce  the  boundless  store 

Of  charms  which  Nature  to  her  votary  yields! 
The  warbling  woodland,  the  resounding  shore, 

The  pomp  of  groves,  and  garniture  of  fields ; 

All  that  the  genial  ray  of  morning  gilds, 
And  all  that  echoes  to  the  song  of  even, 

All  that  the  mountain's  sheltering  bosom  shields, 
And  all  the  dread  magnificence  of  Heaven  ! 
O,  how  canst  thou  renounce,  and  hope  to  be  forgiven?" 

And  cheerfulness,  too  ;  are  not  her  smiles  often  sacri- 
24 


278  THE  YOUNG  LADY  S  HOME. 

ficed  ?  The  sadness  arising  from  physical  suffering  is 
not  the  only  sadness  induced  by  devotion  to  the  claims 
of  society.  Disappointment  and  disgust  often  take  the 
place  of  anticipated  enjoyment ;  — 

"  The  heart  distrusting  asks,  if  this  be  joy !" 

Some  imprudent  word  uttered,  some  unintentional  se- 
verity, or  some  supercilious  slight,  frequently  embitters 
the  recollection  of  an  evening.  There  is,  too,  a  heart- 
lessness,  a  coldness,  in  society,  that  chills  the  ardor  of  a 
warm,  ingenuous  nature,  and  sends  back  the  current  of 
kindness,  until  it  is  finally  frozen  to  apathy.  The  severe 
scrutiny  and  unsparing  criticism  bestowed  upon  a  novice 
are  often  painfully  endured ;  blushing  at  the  conscious- 
ness of  her  own  awkwardness,  and  vexed  to  be  thus  sub- 
jected to  ill-natured  remark,  she  might  exclaim,  with  one 
of  Miss  More's  pastoral  damsels  in  the  "  Search  after 
Happiness,"  — 

"  Are  these  the  beings  called  polite  ? 
Is  this  the  world  of  which  we  want  a  sight  ?" 

Domestic  happiness  is  sometimes  sacrificed.  A  happy 
fireside  is  forsaken  for  the  mingled  crowd.  Sacrifice  as 
it  is,  it  must  sometimes  be  made  ;  but  not  too  frequently, 
lest  the  taste  should  become  vitiated,  and  the  quiet 
enjoyment  of  home  no  longer  be  yours.  Habits  thus 
formed  will  not  readily  yield  to  a  new  situation  and  new 
circumstances.  Woe  to  the  man  whose  wife  is  thoroughly 
imbued  with  the  spirit  of  party-going  and  party-giving! 
His  house  can  scarcely  be  called  his  own ;  in  it,  he  is 
a  mere  movable,  that  must  submit,  like  other  furniture, 
to  be  tossed  to  and  fro,  for  the  accommodation  of  so- 
ciety. This  extreme  fondness  for  display  at  home  and 
abroad  in  gay  wives,  this  entire  want  of  home-feeling 


THE    CLAIMS   OF    SOCIETY.  279 

and  quiet  contentment,  have  driven  a  fearful  number  of 
husbands  to  the  theatre  and  the  gambling-table, — to  dis- 
sipation and  ruin. 

When  the  winter  campaign  is  finished,  travelling  and 
watering-places  take  all  the  world  of  fashion  from  home. 
The  sacrifice  of  comfort  here  is  immense.  Alas  for  our 
country,  —  her  old-fashioned  firesides,  —  her  rural  pleas- 
ures, —  her  comfortable  homes !  If  those  families  who 
are  forced  during  the  summer  months  to  leave  town,  or 
an  unwholesome  climate,  would  but  expend  the  same 
amount  of  money  now  spent  in  travelling,  year  after 
year,  upon  the  purchase  of  a  neat  country-house,  with 
a  few  surrounding  acres,  how  greatly  would  their  com- 
fort and  usefulness  be  increased  !  It  delights  the  imagi- 
nation to  revel  amid  the  quiet  little  Edens  that  might 
thus  be  created  by  the  hand  of  taste  in  every  "  bosky 
dell,"  and  by  the  side  of  the  wide  clear  rivers  of  our 
beautiful  country.  A  taste  for  horticulture  and  the 
planting  of  trees,  among  the  gentlemen,  would  har- 
monize with  the  ladies'  taste  for  flowers,  grottoes,  and 
fountains.  We  are  not  so  Utopian  in  our  day-dreams, 
as  to  believe  this  would  quite  bring  back  the  Golden 
Age  ;  but  we  do  believe  that  the  sterling  worth  and 
domestic  enjoyment  of  the  men  and  women  of  other 
days  would  be  renewed,  and  our  country,  already  old 
in  luxury  and  vice,  be  rejuvenated.  And  the  claims  of 
society !  how  would  they  be  thus  answered  ?  Much 
better  than  they  now  are  by  the  itinerating  mania  that 
has  seized  all  ranks.  Those  families,  whose  places  of 
residence  are  permanently  in  the  country,  would  be 
better  contented  to  remain  there,  if  citizens  and  stran- 
gers were  half  the  year  their  neighbours.  Social  inter 
course  between  them  might  be  placed  upon  a  rational 


280  THE  YOUNG  LADYJS  HOME. 

and  agreeable  footing ;  but  it  is  quite  preposterous  thus 
to  speculate  upon  what  might  be  if,  —  and  if,  —  and  he 
who  dares  to  attack  the  usages  of  society  may  chance 
to  meet  with  as  cordial  a  reception  as  Spenser's  man, 
Talus,  who  went  about  the  world  with  his  iron  flail. 

And  is  there  no  sacrifice  of  principle  ever  made  to 
keep  on  good  terms  with  society?  Do  you  never 
meet  there  the  dissipated,  the  vicious,  from  whom  your 
whole  soul  revolts  ?  But  you  say,  even  these  must  not 
be  given  up  entirely.  Certainly  not,  if  you  can  do  them 
any  good.  The  influence  exerted  upon  them  by  ladies' 
society  should  be  a  strong,  decided  moral  influence.  Yet 
how  can  this  be  if  you  may  not  show,  even  by  a  look, 
that  you  disapprove  of  their  characters  ?  Until  society 
has  a  sanative  power  through  your  instrumentality,  it  will 
not  retard  their  progress  in  dissipation.  A  fearful  respon- 
sibility thus  devolves  upon  ladies  who  are  leaders  in 
society.  If  things  good  and  holy  are  allowed  to  be  ridi- 
culed there ;  if  the  parsons,  the  righteous ,  the  sanctimonious, 
as  the  ministers  of  religion  and  its  professors  are  jeer- 
ingly  termed,  are  made  the  target  for  their  light  missiles ; 
if  they  are  allowed  « to  look  upon  the  wine  when  it  is 
red,"  and  quaff  it  while  it  sparkles,  unreproved,  until 
reason  vanishes  and  folly  reigns,  what  happy  influence 
do  you  exert  ?  You  lend  the  most  powerful  aid  in  accel- 
erating their  downward  course.  But  it  need  not  be,  and 
it  is  not  always  thus.  We  hope  and  believe  better  things 
of  you,  kind  readers,  in  this  day  of  more  enlightened 
morality  and  quickened  sensibility.  Be  it  your  noble 
privilege  to  elevate  still  higher  the  standard  of  morals. 
God  grant  you  a  clear  perception  of  what  is  due  to 
society,  and  the  power  to  benefit  it,  without  the  sacrifice 
of  economy,  time,  health,  cheerfulness,  domestic  happiness, 
and  religious  principles  ! 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 
READING  THE  SACRED  SCRIPTURES. 

"  We  mourn  not  that  prophetic  skill 

Is  found  on  earth  no  more ; 
Enough  for  us  to  trace  thy  will 

In  Scriptures'  sacred  lore." — HEBER. 

OF  all  knowledge,  the  most  important  to  man  is  that 
which  unaided  reason  seeks  in  vain,  and  philosophy,  in 
her  boldest  flights,  could  never  reach,  —  the  knowledge 
of  the  character  of  the  Supreme  Being,  and  our  rela- 
tions to  him.  Without  divine  revelation,  not  a  ray  of 
light  illumines  the  past  or  gilds  the  dark  future ;  man 
stands  alone,  a  mournful  mystery  to  himself;  but,  bless- 
ed be  God!  in  the  moral,  as  in  the  natural  world,  he 
saidj  —  «  Let  there  be  light,  and  there  was  light." 

The  Old  Testament  reveals  the  Creator,  —  his  wis- 
dom and  goodness  in  calling  forth  from  chaos  this  beau- 
tiful world,  and  furnishing  it  with  magnificent  richness 
for  a  habitation  for  man,  —  the  creation  of  man  in  the 
image  of  his  Maker,  —  his  departure  from  the  law  of 
holiness,  and  the  direful  consequences  of  his  guilt ;  pro- 
claims pardon  to  the  penitent,  and  restoration  to  the 
Divine  favor  through  a  Redeemer.  It  tells  of  the  fear- 
ful increase  of  sin  and  horrible  depravity,  by  a  mon- 
strous race  polluting  the  earth,  until  at  length  the  right- 
eous judgment  of  God  swept  them  from  the  face  of  it  by 
an  universal  deluge ;  while  praise  for  saving  mercy  as- 
24*  C281) 


282 

cends  from  one  only  family,  who  float  securely  upon  the 
world  of  waters.  It  proclaims  a  covenant  between  God 
and  one  whom  he  condescends  to  style  his  friend,  and 
his  special  love  and  favor  to  his  descendants,  to  whom 
he  promulgates  the  moral  law ;  confirming  by  mira- 
cles, his  authority,  and  by  prophets  keeping  alive  from 
generation  to  generation  the  hope  of  that  Saviour  "  in 
whom  all  the  families  of  the  earth  should  be  blessed." 
Through  its  sacred  pages  are  profusely  scattered  the 
sweetest,  purest  strains  of  poetic  fancy,  and  the  sub- 
limest  effusions  of  heaven-born  eloquence.  Its  imper- 
ishable literature  has  inspired  the  noblest  efforts  of 
human  genius.  What  other  book  contains  such  aston- 
ishing, such  inexhaustible  materials  for  thought  and 
investigation  ?  Bring  to  it  all  the  treasures  of  know- 
ledge to  aid  in  its  explanation  and  illustration.  Profane 
history,  ancient  and  modern,  will  throw  light  upon  the 
prophecies,  —  Eastern  travels  offer  striking  illustrations 
from  existing  customs  and  manners,  and  delineate  Scrip- 
ture geography  with  satisfactory  precision.  Search  and 
compare  Scripture  with  Scripture.  Where  there  is  ob- 
scurity that  you  cannot  penetrate,  resort  to  critical 
commentators,  and  where  there  are  difficulties  that  you 
cannot  solve,  have  recourse  to  the  pious  and  the  learn- 
ed ;  but  at  the  same  time  use  the  reason  which  God 
has  given  you  for  this  noble  purpose,  the  deep,  daily 
study  of  his  Holy  Word. 

The  New  Testament  is  the  authentic  record  of  the 
long  promised  Redeemer's  miraculous  birth  and  spot- 
less life ;  his  death,  resurrection,  and  ascension  to 
heaven ;  the  efforts  of  the  witnesses  of  these  events 
to  make  them  known  to  the  world,  and  the  success  of 
their  labors  ;  their  letters  to  the  converts  to  Christianity, 


READING    THE    SACRED    SCRIPTURES.  283 

explaining  its  doctrines  and  enforcing  its  duties ;  ending 
with  a  sublime  apocalypse  of  the  thrilling  scenes  that 
shall  precede  the  dissolution  of  the  world,  the  terrors 
of  the  judgment-day,  and  a  heart-cheering  vision  of  the 
mansions  of  blessedness. 

We  should  each  know  for  ourselves,  the  evidences  on 
which  belief  in  these  stupendous  truths  is  founded. 

It  is  not  designed  to  enter  here  at  length  into  the  evi- 
dences of  Christianity.  Chalmers,  Erskine,  and  Paley, 
on  this  subject,  are  earnestly  recommended  to  your  seri- 
ous and  attentive  perusal. 

The  New  Testament  depends  upon  the  evidence  of 
testimony  and  internal  evidence,  or  its  adaptation  to  the 
wants  and  condition  of  man. 

Upon  the  strength  of  the  first  argument,  our  belief 
mainly  rests.  The  writers  of  the  New  Testament, — 
were  they  intelligent,  honest,  and  true  witnesses  ?  They 
were  plain,  sensible  men,  who  had  no  other  motive  in 
writing,  but  to  make  known  truths  which  would  expose 
them  to  contempt,  persecution,  and  death,  in  obedience 
to  the  command  of  their  crucified  Master ;  they  exhib- 
ited their  authority  as  Christ's  witnesses  by  working  mira- 
cles, which  were  seen  and  known  by  thousands  of  their 
fellow-men,  in  full  possession  of  their  senses  and  their 
reason.  The  knowledge  of  these  events  has  been  trans- 
mitted to  the  present  time,  in  the  same  way  that  other 
historical  truths  have  been ;  namely,  by  written  testi- 
mony. No  one  ever  doubted  that  there  was  such  a  man 
as  Alexander  the  Great,  or  that  he  had  such  a  friend  as 
Parmenio,  or  that  he  conquered  the  Persian  monarch, 
Darius.  We  believe  these  things  as  firmly  as  if  they 
had  occurred  in  some  distant  land,  in  our  own  day;  the 
length  of  time  that  has  elapsed  does  not  invalidate  the 


284 


testimony  of  the  historian.  No  history  in  the  world  is 
so  well  supported  by  testimony  as  the  history  of  Jesus 
Christ.  A  number  of  eye-witnesses  have  given  their 
separate  but  concordant  narrations  of  the  same  events, 
and  the  severe  scrutiny  that  has  been  exercised  upon 
them  has  only  laid  open  the  immovable  basis  upon 
which  they  rest. 

These  brief  hints  have  been  given,  merely  to  lead 
your  minds  to  a  thorough  investigation  of  this  subject. 

The  second  argument,  namely,  whether  the  truths  re- 
vealed are  adapted  to  the  condition  of  man  comes  home 
to  every  heart.  Look  into  your  own ;  are  its  yearnings 
after  happiness  satisfied  with  any  thing  that  earth  affords  ? 
What  shall  purify  and  elevate  its  affections?  What 
moral  power  do  you  possess  to  escape  from  wretched- 
ness ?  What  human  philosophy  will  afford  consolation 
in  death,  and  hope  of  a  blissful  immortality?  The 
Bible !  The  Bible  alone  reveals  the  mystery  of  man's 
being,  his  fallen,  sinful  state,  and  the  means  of  restora- 
tion ;  points  out  the  path  of  duty,  and  opens  wide  the 
golden  gates  of  immortality.  The  Bible,  then,  my 
young  friends,  must  be  your  text-book  of  duty,  —  your 
guide  in  self-education.  But  you  must  come  to  the 
reading  of  it  with  one  petition,  uttered  with  the  earnest- 
ness of  the  last  cry  of  a  drowning  man  :  —  "God  be 
merciful  to  me  a  sinner!"  "You  must  flee  to  it  as  the 
only  refuge  of  the  lost,  as  well  as  the  only  remedy  of 
the  unholy."  Then,  the  same  Spirit  which  inspired 
"  holy  men  of  old"  to  write  its  solemn  truths  will  ren- 
der it  to  you  "a  pillar  of  fire  by  day  and  a  pillar  of 
cloud  by  night,"  to  guide  you  through  life's  wilderness 
to  the  promised  land. 

In  this  age  of  sectarianism  and  heresy,  cling  closely 


READING    THE    SACRED    SCRIPTURES.  285 

to  the  Bible.  Consider  it  more  honorable  than  any  sec- 
tarian appellation  to  be  called  "a  Bible  Christian." 
In  the  stillness  and  solitude  of  evening,  before  you 
throw  yourself  upon  the  protecting  care  of  Divine  Lbve, 
read  its  glorious  promises.  By  the  rosy  light  of  morn- 
ing, study  its  holy  precepts,  to  regulate  your  thoughts, 
animate  your  love,  and  fortify  your  heart  against  tempta- 
tion. Imbibe  its  principles,  so  that  they  shall  run 
through  the  whole  tenor  of  your  conduct,  —  form  the 
very  warp  upon  which  your  life  is  woven.  You  need 
not  fear  that  you  will  become  too  well  acquainted  with 
the  blessed  book.  To  adopt  the  eloquent  language  of 
another,  —  "If  all  the  minds  now  on  earth  could  be 
concentrated  into  one,  and  that  one  applied  the  whole  of 
its  stupendous  energies  to  the  study  of  this  si|^gle  book, 
it  would  never  apprehend  its  doctrines  in  all  their  divine 
purity  ;  its  promises  in  their  overpowering  fulness ;  its 
precepts  in  their  searching  extent ;  even  that  glorious 
mind,  sufficient  to  exhaust  the  universe,  would  onlj  dis- 
cover that  the  Scriptures  were  inexhaustible." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE  STANDARD  OF  CHRISTIAN  CHARACTER. 

"At  kind  distance  still 
Perfection  stands,  like  happiness, 
To  tempt  eternal  chase." 

WHEN  Corregio  first  saw  the  paintings  of  Raphael, 
his  heart  throbbed  with  exultation,  and  he  exclaimed, — 
"I,  too,  am  a  painter!"  An  artist  of  our  own  country 
was  once  standing  with  folded  arms,  gazing  with  intense 
delight  up5n  a  beautiful  picture  ;  the  question  was  asked, 
—  "Do  you  ever  expect  to  equal  that?"  He  turned 
quickly,  his  dark  eye  flashing  with  the  enthusiasm  of 
genius,  and  replied, — "  My  aim  is  perfection."  Would 
such  an  one  be  daunted  by  the  ridicule  of  those  who  have 
no  taste  for  his  art,  or  his  ardor  cooled  by  the  sober  advice 
of  the  utilitarian,  who  declares  it  to  be  a  most  unprofita- 
ble employment  ?  They  no  more  retard  his  progress, 
than  the  "  dewy  cobwebs  on  the  morning  grass"  retard 
the  journey  of  the  early  traveller.  The  painter's  ardor, 
his  devotedness,  his  perseverance,  call  forth  unbounded 
praise  from  all  lovers  of  the  art ;  they  know  that  such 
concentration  of  power,  such  unity  of  purpose,  will  pro- 
duce surpassing  excellence.  All  the  world  acknowledge 
that  "  it  is  good  to  be  zealously  affected  in  a  good 
cause,"  excepting  only  the  best  of  all  causes,  —  the 
cause  of  religion. 

Among  those  who  are  professedly  Christians,  the  di- 

(286) 


THE    STANDARD    OF    CHRISTIAN    CHARACTER.         287 

versity  of  character  is  immense.  The  heart  may  be 
right,  where  there  are  errors  in  judgment,  and  the  under- 
standing may  be  enlightened  and  convinced,  while  the 
heart  remains  untouched.  It  is,  nevertheless,  to  this 
«  cloud  of  witnesses"  that  the  young  look  for  example. 

The  poetical  religionist,  admires  the  beauty  and  the 
thrilling  grandeur  of  many  parts  of  the  Bible.  Its  won- 
derful truths  exercise  the  intellect,  and  give  unbounded 
scope  to  the  imagination.  His  taste  is  charmed  with 
the  bold  rhetorical  figures,  and  the  beautiful  imagery  with 
which  it  abounds.  He  is  not  insensible,  perhaps,  to  the 
noble  examples  of  moral  sublimity  there  exhibited.  He 
admires,  too,  the  splendid  actions  of  illustrious  men  of 
every  age  and  country,  —  "the  lofty  deeds  and  daring 
high"  of  the  patriot,  the  philanthropy  of  a  Howard 
or  a  Wilberforce,  the  dauntless  courage  of  a  Luther 
and  a  Knox,  —  but  with  the  same  kind  of  admiration 
that  might  be  bestowed  upon  equal  energy  and  intellec- 
tual power  directed  to  entirely  different  purposes.  It 
is  the  admiration  of  greatness  of  character,  of  a  gran- 
deur and  power  which  belong,  in  a  superior  degree,  to 
Milton's  Satan  and  Goethe's  Mephistopheles.  It  is 
possible  he  may  sometimes  admire  what  is  called  the 
beauty  of  virtue,  but  it  is  not  "the  beauty  of  holiness." 
To  him  there  is  nothing  picturesque,  nothing  interesting, 
in  the  daily  life  of  the  serious,  humble,  unobtrusive 
Christian ;  nothing  to  excite  the  imagination,  or  charm 
the  overwrought  feelings,  in  such  an  one's  self-denying 
duties.  If  such  a  Christian,  however,  were  brought  to 
the  stake,  and  endured,  with  unyielding  fortitude,  the 
agonies  of  martyrdom,  then  he  would  become  worthy  of 
admiration.  Or  it  is  possible  that  the  magnanimity  or 
the  moral  courage  of  a  Christian  might  strike  the  poet- 


288  THE  YOUNG  LADY5S  HOME. 

ical  religionist  with  awe,  as  Milton's  Satan,  at  the  grave 
rebuke  of  the  cherub  Zephon,  struck  with  his  angel 
countenance,  "  severe  in  youthful  beauty," 

"Felt  how  awful  goodness  is,  and  saw 
Virtue  in  her  shape  how  lovely." 

Rousseau  could  admire  the  beauty  and  moral  grandeur 
of  Christianity,  and  could  even  pen  an  eloquent  enco- 
mium upon  that  Saviour  whose  divinity  he  denied,  and 
whose  precepts  he  daringly  violated.  He  says, —  "  The 
majesty  of  the  Scriptures  strikes  me  with  astonishment, 
and  the  sanctity  of  the  gospel  addresses  itself  to  my  heart. 
Look  at  the  volumes  of  the  philosophers ;  with  all  their 
pomp,  how  contemptible  do  they  appear  in  comparison  to 
this !  Is  it  possible  that  a  book,  at  once  so  simple  and  so 
sublime,  can  be  the  work  of  man  ?  Can  he,  who  him- 
self is  the  subject  of  its  history,  be  a  mere  man  ?  Was 
his  the  tone  of  an  enthusiast,  or  an  ambitious  sectary  ? 
What  sweetness !  What  purity  in  his  manners !  What 
an  affecting  gracefulness  in  his  instructions !  What 
sublimity  in  his  maxims !  What  profound  wisdom  in  his 
discourses  !  What  presence  of  mind  !  What  sagacity 
and  propriety  in  his  answers  !  How  great  the  command 
over  his  passions !  Where  is  the  man,  where  the  phi- 
losopher, who  could  so  live,  suffer,  and  die,  without 
weakness  and  without  ostentation  ?" 

Madame  de  Stael,  in  her  works,  discovers  the  same 
admiration,  the  same  enthusiasm,  for  the  grand  and  the 
beautiful  in  religion,  while  it  is  not  uncharitable  to  be- 
lieve that  she  never  felt  its  power. 

The  worshipper  of  nature  may  be  called  a  poetical 
religionist,  and  even  the  glorious  achievements  of  art  call 
forth,  in  such  a  mind,  similar  emotion.  But  this  is  not 
religion,  —  unless  adoring  love  of  the  Creator  mingle 


THE    STANDARD    OF    CHRISTIAN    CHARACTER.          289 

with  admiration  of  his  works.  Another  gifted  being, 
whose  whole  life  was  a  practical  demonstration  of  his 
impiety,  could  worship  nature  with  enthusiast  zeal. 

"The  stars  are  forth,  the  moon  above  the  tops 
Of  the  snow-shining  mountains.     Beautiful! 
I  linger  yet  with  Nature,  for  the  night 
Hath  been  to  me  a  more  familiar  face 
Than  that  of  man ;  and  in  her  starry  shade 
Of  dim  and  solitary  loveliness, 
I  learned  the  language  of  another  world. 
I  do  remember  me,  that  in  my  youth, 
When  I  was  wandering  upon  such  a  night 
I  stood  within  the  Coliseum's  walls 
'Midst  the  chief  relics  of  almighty  Rome. 

"And  thou  didst  shine,  thou  rolling  moon,  upon 
All  this,  and  cast  a  wide  and  tender  light, 
Which  softened  down  the  hoar  austerity 
Of  rugged  desolation,  and  filled  up 
As  't  were  anew,  the  gaps  of  centuries ; 
Leaving  that  beautiful  which  still  was  so, 
And  making  that  which  was  not,  till  the  place 
Became  religion,  and  the  heart  ran  o'er 
With  silent  worship  of  the  great  of  old." 

To  the  young,  such  a  religion  often  appears  like  an 
angel  of  light,  while  true  religion  robed  in  the  garb  of 
humility  with  the  tears  of  penitence  upon  her  cheek, 
meekly  bearing  the  cross,  and  trampling  under  foot  the 
glittering  gold  and  dazzling  gauds  of  earth,  has  no 
"  comeliness,"  and  is  "  despised  and  rejected." 

Nearly  allied  to  the  poetical,  is  the  sentimental  re- 
ligionist. Sentimentalism,  on  any  subject,  is  to  be  dep- 
recated ;  but  where  it  is  substituted  for  genuine  Chris- 
tian sensibility,  it  is  deplorable.  A  young  lady  may  be 
melted  to  tears  by  the  eloquence  of  a  favorite  preacher. 
Music  has  the  same  effect.  The  sorrows  and  sufferings 
of  her  fellow-beings  call  forth  sighs  innumerable,  and 
touching  expressions  of  sympathy  and  commiseration ; 
25 


290 


but  her  fee-ings  are  too  delicate,  her  sensibility  too  exqui- 
site, to  allow  her  to  come  in  contact  with  actual  misery. 
The  luxury  of  emotion  in  which  she  indulges  is  not 
willingly  exchanged  for  the  performance  of  the  ordinary 
duties  of  life.  It  is  nunlike  and  saintlike  to  look  pen- 
sive, and  have  the  eyes  surcharged  with  unshed  tears ; 
but  are  they  caused  by  broken-heartedness  for  sin  ? 
Does  she  not  more  frequently  weep  over  the  weakness 
and  degradation  of  human  nature  than  over  its  sinfulness  ? 
The  purity,  the  loveliness,  of  religion,  she  can  eloquent- 
ly describe,  while,  perhaps,  the  warfare  within,  and  that 
spirituality  that  this  religion  requires,  are  utterly  incom- 
prehensible. By  this  morbid  sensibility,  the  tone  of  re- 
ligious character  is  destroyed.  It  softens,  but  it  also 
enervates  and  saddens;  it  "  imparts  poison  in  an  odor; 
slays  with  a  jewelled  scimitar." 

"An  ardent  spirit  dwells  with  Christian  love, 
The  eagle's  vigor  in  the  pitying  dove  • 
'T  is  not  enough  that  we  with  sorrow  sigh, 
That  we  the  wants  of  pleading  man  supply, 
That  we  in  sympathy  with  sufferers  feel, 
Nor  bear  a  grief  without  a  wish  to  heal; 
Not  these  suffice ;  to  sickness,  pain,  and  woe, 
The  Christian  spirit  loves  with  aid  to  go, 
Will  not  be  sought,  waits  not  for  want  to  plead, 
But  seeks  the  duty,  —  nay,  prevents  the  need,— 
Her  utmost  aid  to  every  ill  applies, 
And  plans  relief  for  coming  miseries." 

Unlike  the  poetical  and  the  sentimental,  the  harsh, 
severe  religionist  holds  no  communion  with  nature.  He 
fears  to  look  upon  the  beauties  profusely  showered  upon 
field  and  forest,  mountain  and  vale.  He  seldom  lifts  his 
eyes  to  "  the  moon  walking  in  brightness,"  or  yields  to 
"the  sweet  influences  of  the  Pleiades,"  lest  his  admira- 
tion of  the  heavenly  host  should  touch  that  sensibility 


THE    STANDARD    OF    CHRISTIAN    CHARACTER.         291 

which  he  thinks  it  duty  to  repress.  He  forgets  that  the 
same  hand  which  wrote  the  law  amid  the  thunders  of 
Sinai  lighted  up  those  glorious  orbs,  and  tinted  with  its 
beautiful  hues  even  the  delicate  flower  that  he  tramples 
beneath  his  feet.  When  this  magnificent  world  was  fin- 
ished, the  Almighty  Creator  pronounced  it  "  very  good,'7 
and  in  his  holy  word  calls  upon  all  men  to  "  praise  his 
wondrous  works."  Moses,  David,  Solomon,  and  the 
prophets  looked  upon  nature  with  a  loving  and  poetic 
eye,  and  found  types  of  things  spiritual  in  things  mate- 
rial. Our  blessed  Saviour  himself  drew  his  similes  and 
illustrations  from  the  natural  objects  around  him,  and  a 
garden  was  his  chosen  place  for  retirement  and  holy 
meditation. 

The  Christian  of  cultivated  mind  and  refined  taste 
may  have  a  keen  and  delicate  perception  of  beauty  in 
all  its  infinite  variety.  "  He  looks  with  admiration  on 
the  fair,  the  rich,  the  magnificent,  in  architecture  ;  on  the 
master-sketch,  the  coloring,  the  light  and  shade,  of  the 
painter ;  on  the  transforming  power  and  decorative  taste 
of  the  sculptor.  He  gazes  with  a  child's  rejoicing  on 
the  bud  and  the  blossom,  on  the  flower  and  the  leaf;  on 
the  gaudy  butterfly,  the  glittering  scales  of  the  fish, 
and  the  dazzling  plumage  of  the  bird.  He  gazes  with 
a  poet's  feeling,  if  not  with  a  poet's  eye,  on  the  cheer- 
ful landscape  of  morning,  and  the  pensive  scenery  of 
evening,  —  on  the  beauty  and  serenity  of  the  lake  and 
the  woodland.  He  gazes  with  a  religious  awe  upon 
the  deep  silence  of  the  heavens,  and  the  calm  majesty 
of  the  ocean,  —  on  the  gloom  of  the  forest,  on  the  fury 
of  the  storm,  on  the  savage  rush  of  the  cataract,  and 
the  solemn  grandeur  of  the  mountain."  But  not  alone 
in  the  magnificence  of  nature  does  the  Christian  rejoice; 


292  THE  YOUNG  LAD\ 's  HOME. 

the  Almighty  Creator  has  flung  abroad  over  the  wide 
earth  tokens  of  his  wisdom  and  goodness,  which  cause 
the  pious  heart  to  glow  with  admiration  and  love. 
This  is  beautifully  exemplified  in  a  simple  description  of 
a  passage  around  a  dangerous  precipice,  written  for  a 
juvenile  magazine.  The  traveller  says  : — «  The  river  in 
the  valley  below  seemed,  in  the  distance,  like  a  white 
silken  thread  ;  and  the  bare,  barren,  perpendicular  rock 
was  frightful  to  behold.  <  Be  steady,'  said  the  guide 
who  went  before  me,  <  and  keep  your  eye  on  the  rock.7 
I  went  on,  scarcely  daring  to  draw  my  breath,  grasping 
with  my  hands  every  projection  that  I  could  lay  hold  of, 
for  the  shelf  on  which  we  stood  was  only  a  few  inches 
wide.  I  asked  the  guide  if  we  had  almost  passed  the 
danger,  but  he  was  silent  as  the  grave ;  not  a  word  es- 
caped him.  A  slip,  a  false  step,  a  breath  of  air,  would 
almost  have  been  sufficient  to  have  plunged  me  headlong 
down  the  fearful  steep.  Now  and  then  our  feet  displaced 
the  small,  loose  pieces  of  granite  which  lay  on  the  ledge 
we  stood  upon ;  they  fell  over,  but  we  never  heard  them 
strike  against  the  rock,  it  was  so  perpendicular.  I  felt 
that  my  life  was  held  in  a  balance,  and  that  none  but  the 
High  and  Holy  One  could  preserve  me.  At  last  we 
came  to  a  spot  where  the  path  was  much  broader,  so 
that  we  could  all  stand  comfortably  upon  it ;  and  here 
we  paused  a  minute,  that  I  might  recover  a  little  from  the 
fear  I  had  endured.  In  this  place  I  observed  a  small, 
beautiful,  dazzling  blossom,  on  a  plant  which  grew  from 
a  crevice  in  the  rock.  It  was  a  lovely  little  flower,  and 
gave  me  wondrous  comfort,  for  it  told  me  that  God  was 
on  the  edge  of  the  precipice  with  us.  The  flower  was 
his  divine  workmanship ;  so  I  plucked  it  and  placed  it  in 
my  bosom. 


THE    STANDARD    OF    CHRISTIAN  CHARACTER.          293 

"In  that  eventful  hour 

My  heart  had  failed   with  fear: 
But,  gazing  on  the  lovely  flower, 
I  felt  that  God  was  near." 

This  deep  consciousness  of  the  benevolence  of  the 
Supreme  Being  renders  the  beautiful  in  his  works  ever 
emblematic  of  himself.  Henry  Martyn  could  rejoice  in 
his  Almighty  perfections,  even  when  "a  single  leaf" 
was  the  only  visible  type ;  and  the  world  of  beauty,  that 
lies  beyond  the  ken  of  unaided  sight,  revealed  by  the 
microscope,  fills  the  mind  of  the  pious  contemplatist 
with  adoring  wonder.  Earth  sends  up  her  perpetual 
hymn  of  praise  to  the  Creator,  and  dull  and  gross  must 
be  that  heart  in  which  there  is  no  response.  Strong, 
earnest  faith  in  the  invisible  will  not  degrade  things  vis- 
ible ;  to  those  who  "  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  to 
behold  the  beauty  of  the  Lord  and  to  inquire  in  his  tem~- 
ple"  a  single  dew-drop  may  be  a  memento  of  his  wis- 
dom, benevolence,  arid  mercy. 

Of  another  class  of  religionists,  whom  Miss  More 
calls  "  the  phraseologists,"  she  says :  —  "These  are  as- 
siduous hearers,  but  indifferent  doers  ;  very  valiant  talk- 
ers for  the  truth,  but  remiss  workers.  They  are  more 
addicted  to  hear  sermons,  than  to  profit  by  them.  They 
always  exhibit  in  their  conversation  the  idiom  of  a  party, 
and  are  apt  to  suspect  the  sincerity  of  those  whose 
higher  breeding  and  more  correct  habits  discover  a  bet- 
ter taste.  The  language  of  these  technical  Christians 
indisposes  persons  of  refinement,  who  have  not  had  the 
advantage  of  seeing  religion  under  a  more  engaging  form, 
to  serious  piety,  by  leading  them  to  make  a  most  unjust 
association  between  religion  and  bad  taste.  With  them, 
words  are  not  only  the  signs  of  things,  but  things  them- 
selves." 

25* 


294 


These  "  phraseologists  "  would  have  all  Christians, 
however  differing  in  natural,  individual  character,  come 
under  their  flattening  machine.  The  sanguine  must  be- 
come phlegmatic,  the  cheerful  must  wear  a  sad  counte- 
nance, the  impulsive  must  never  act  without  cold  calcula- 
tion, the  young  must  have  the  sobriety  of  the  aged,  and 
the  heart  beating  warm  with  generous  sensibility  must  be 
cooled  down  to  the  zero  of  their  thermometer.  They  deal 
much  in  denunciation  and  condemnation,  and  spend  their 
strength  in  endeavoring  to  proselyte  to  their  own  sect,  but 
do  not  like  to  commune  with  their  own  hearts  and  be 
still. 

Another  class,  differing  but  little  from  the  last,  would 
keep  the  mind  in  a  continual  state  of  excitement.  Fer- 
vor, with  them,  is  the  alpha  and  the  omega.  Devotional 
retirement,  solemn  self-examination,  does  not  suffi- 
ciently excite  their  zeal ;  they  must  keep  it  up  to  a 
white  heat,  by  the  sympathy  of  others.  They  are  in 
danger  of  sometimes  mistaking  mere  animal  feeling  for 
religious  fervency.  They  are  in  danger  of  saying  in  ac- 
tion, if  not  in  words,  to  those  who  are  more  calm,  and 
would  have  every  thing  done  "  decently  and  in  order, "— * 
"Stand  by,  for  I  am  holier  than  thou."  They  may  be 
following  the  ignis-fatuus  of  their  own  heated  imagina- 
tions, instead  of  the  leadings  of  an  unerring  guide. 
They  may,  by  this  over-excitement  of  feeling,  envelope 
in  perpetual  mist  that  strait  and  narrow  path  which 
they  sincerely  wish  to  pursue. 

Very  different  from  these  zealots  are  the  cool  moral- 
ists. They  are  extremely  careful  not  "to  be  righteous 
overmuch."  They  have  a  fearful  dread  of  enthusiasm. 
They  keep  on  good  terms  with  the  world,  by  complying 
with  most  of  their  customs,  and  practically  acknowledge 


THE    STANDARD    OF   CHRISTIAN    CHARACTER.         295 

the  wisdom  of  their  maxims.  The  timid  sailor-boy, 
who  for  the  first  time  climbs  to  the  top  of  the  mast, 
keeps  his  eye  downward;  he  dare  not  "look  up  aloft." 
These  moralists,  with  their  eyes  fixed  upon  the  earth, 
can  they  go  "onward  and  upward,  and  true  to  the 
line  ?" 

Dear  reader,  are  you  "  bending  a  pinion  for  the  deep- 
er sky?"  Look  to  Him  who  said,  —  "Learn  of  me, 
for  I  am  meek  and  lowly  of  heart."  Christ  is  the  only 
perfect  standard  of  human  character.  Many  bright  ex- 
amples of  the  beauty  of  holiness  you  may  meet  to  cheer 
you  on  your  heavenward  course,  and  they  will  grow 
brighter  and  brighter  as  they  increase  in  their  likeness 
to  this  perfect  standard.  Many  you  will  find,  who  bear 
his  divine  lineaments  but  imperfectly  ;  —  we  may  mourn 
over  \heir  imperfections,  but  still  more  over  our  own. 
Though  weak,  erring,  sinful,  and  conscious,  of  it  all, 
still  your  aim  must  be  perfection.  That  "  faith,  which 
is  the  substance  of  things  hoped  for,  and  the  evidence 
of  things  not  seen,"  by  uniting  you  to  Christ,  will  give 
you  a  blessed  hope  of  forgiveness  through  his  merits  and 
blood-bought  atonement;  but  love  for  that  character 
which  was  holy,  harmless,  and  undefiled  will  lead  you 
to  imitation.  "  Whatsoever  things  are  pure,  lovely,  and 
of  good  report,"  will  then  adorn  your  Christian  charac- 
ter. It  is  not  enough  to  enlist  under  the  banners  of  the 
cross.  The  Captain  of  your  salvation  must  have  your 
entire  allegiance ;  you  must  put  on  the  whole  panoply 
of  faith  for  the  conflict  that  awaits  you.  The  perfect 
soldier  must  go  through  a  course  of  severe  discipline, — 
he  must  never  slumber  at  his  post,  —  he  must  never  com- 
municate with  the  enemy,  —  his  weapons  must  be  untar- 
nished, bright,  and  ever  within  his  reach.  Above  all, 


296  THE  YOUNG  LADY's  HOME. 

he  must  have  no  will  but  the  will  of  his  commander ; 
his  obedience  must  be  perfect.  The  Christian  warfare 
is  chiefly  within.  You  may  have  enemies  without,  who 
assail  you  with  ridicule  or  with  false  reasoning,  but  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  is  to  be  built  up  in  your  own  heart, 
and  there  .are  your  worst  enemies.  If  no  traitors  lurk 
within,  you  may  defy  the  puny  weapons  that  are  hurled 
by  the  outer  foes.  The  ridicule  of  the  thoughtless,  the 
gay,  the  dissipated, —  dare  to  look  it  in  the  face,  and  its 
terrors,  like  those  of  a  painted  mask,  will  vanish.  Do 
you  shrink  abashed  from  their  commonplace  taunting? 
They  tell  you  "  there  is  no  reason  for  being  so  starched 
and  prim."  That  "you  make  yourself  very  disagreea- 
ble by  being  so  rigid."  "  Religion  should  not  make  you 
gloomy."  "There  is  no  use  in  making  so  much  pa- 
rade about  it."  If  you  are  intimidated  by  such  attacks, 
you  will  lose  ground,  which  it  will  be  very  difficult  to 
retain.  Retreat  not  an  inch.  It  is  your  duty  to  make 
religion  as  engaging  as  possible,  —  to  be  kind,  to  be 
courteous,  to  be  gentle,  to  be  forbearing ;  at  the  same 
time,  to  be  courageous,  to  be  firm. 

Think  not  that  the  pure  and  holy  example  of  Jesus 
Christ  is  too  exalted  for  your  imitation.  One  object  of 
his  divine  mission  was  to  exhibit  the  capabilities  of  hu- 
man nature  for  moral  excellence,  and  the  loveliness  and 
purity  of  human  affections,  unsullied  by  sinfulness. 

His  character,  in  some  of  its  most  striking  traits  for 
imitation,  has  been  beautifully  delineated  by  an  elegant 
female  writer  of  our  own  country  in  the  following  lan- 
guage :  — 

"In  the  character  of  our  Saviour,  the  mind  and  the 
heart  rest  satisfied ;  the  more  it  is  studied,  the  more 
holy  and  beautiful  it  becomes.  Does  the  mind  ask  for 


THE    STANDARD    OF    CHRISTIAN    CHARACTER.         297 

submission,  seek  it  in  his  childhood,  while  he  was  sub- 
ject to  his  parents ;  for  youthful  dignity,  see  him  stand- 
ing in  the  midst  of  the  temple,  sublime  in  youth  and 
power,  reasoning  with  the  doctors  and  lawyers,  with  a 
wisdom  which  astonished  even  those  who  questioned 
him  on  subjects  which  had  been  to  them  the  study  of  a 
lifetime.  Does  it  ask  for  humility  and  forbearance, 
find  him  washing  his  disciples'  feet  and  sitting  at  the 
same  board  with  publicans  and  sinners ;  for  true  and 
gentle  chanty,  listen  to  his  voice  when  he  says  to  the 
sinful  woman,  —  <  Woman,  where  are  thine  accusers? 
Go  in  peace,  and  sin  no  more.'  Does  it  ask  a  heart 
full  of  gentle  and  domestic  sympathy,  follow  him  to  the 
grave  of  Lazarus,  or  to  the  bier  of  the  widow's  son; 
for  benevolence,  let  the  mind  dwell  for  a  moment  on  the 
cleansed  leper,  on  the  blind  restored  to  sight,  and  on 
that  heart-stirring  scene  where  he  stood  in  the  midst  of 
the  multitude,  while  the  sick  man  was  let  down  through 
the  roof,  that  he  might  heal  him  ;  for  firmness,  go  to  the 
wilderness  where  the  Son  of  God  fasted  and  was  sorely 
tempted  forty  days  and  forty  nights ;  for  energy,  wit- 
ness it  in  the  overthrowing  of  the  money-tables,  while 
those  who  had  desecrated  the  temple  were  cast  forth 
from  the  place  they  had  polluted  ;  for  wisdom,  read  it  in 
every  act  of  his  life,  and  in  every  line  of  his  Sermon  on 
the  Mount ;  for  prudence,  see  it  in  his  answer  given  to 
the  chief  priests,  when  they  brought  him  the  tribute- 
money ;  fa?  patience,  forgiveness,  and  all  the  gentle  attri- 
butes that  form  the  Christian  character  in  its  perfection, 
follow  him  to  the  garden  ;  witness  his  prayer  and  his 
agony  of  spirit ;  dwell  on  his  patient  and  gentle  speech 
when  he  returned  from  that  scene  of  pain,  and  found 
even  his  disciples  asleep ;  reflect  on  his  meekness  and 


298 


forbearance  when  the  traitor's  lip  was  on  his  cheek ;  on 
the  hand  so  readily  extended  to  heal  the  ear  of  the 
maimed  soldier.  Go  with  him  to  the  place  of  trial,  and 
to  that  last  fearful  scene  which  caused  the  grave  to  give 
up  its  dead,  and  the  solid  earth  to  tremble  beneath  the 
footsteps  of  his  persecutors.  Dwell  upon  his  life  and 
upon  every  separate  act  of  his  life,  and  the  soul  must 
become  imbued  with  a  sense  of  its  truth,  beauty,  and 
holiness." 

Happy  Martha  and  Mary,  to  be  allowed  the  blessed 
privilege  of  receiving  such  a  guest !  Where  is  the  aus- 
terity that  piety  sometimes  assumes  at  the  fireside  ? 
Where  the  pharisaic  severity  that  says,  —  "I  thank 
Thee  that  I  am  not  as  other  men  are,"  while  mingling  in 
the  social  circle  ?  Love  and  tenderness  beam  from  his 
countenance,  as  he  encourages  the  humble  Mary  to  sit 
at  his  feet ;  and  even  in  his  reproof  to  the  bustling  Mar- 
tha, there  is  no  unkindness  ;  he  would  relieve  her  from 
being  "cumbered  with  much  serving."  This  glorious 
guest  you  may  still  welcome  to  your  hearts,  and  in  the 
attitude  of  an  humble,  earnest,  docile  learner,  study  his 
perfect  character,  until  your  own  shall  be  transmuted, 
by  a  divine  alchemy,  to  a  complete  resemblance. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

CHRISTIAN  DUTY.  — CHEERFULNESS. 

'Sunbeam  of  summer !  0,  what  is  like  thee? 
Hope  of  the  wilderness, — joy  of  the  sea! 
One  thing  is  like  thee,  to  mortals  given, — 
The  faith,  touching  all  things  with  hues  of  heaven." 

IT  is  a  common  saying,  that  youth  has  few  trials ;  and 
so  it  may  appear  to  those  persons,  who,  amid  the  cares  and 
turmoil  of  after  life,  look  back  upon  this  comparatively 
tranquil  period.  Yet  how  many  of  the  young  are  ready 
to  exclaim,  in  bitterness  of  heart,  — "  If  this  be  the 
happiest  portion  of  existence,  would  that  I  could  die !" 
Can  we  expect  uniform  cheerfulness  in  those  who, 
with  keen  sensibilities,  unsupported  by  the  strength  and 
fortitude  of  maturer  years,  and  devoid  of  religious  prin- 
ciple, are  discovering  each  day  more  and  more  of  the 
trials  of  life  ?  The  thoughtless,  in  the  pride  of  health 
and  spirits,  excited  by  gay  visions  of  future  pleasure, 
may  pass  many  a  merry  hour;  but  their  joy  is  as  differ- 
ent from  real  cheerfulness,  as  the  music  of  a  ball-room 
from  "  the  minstrelsy  of  leaf  and  bird."  Reflective 
and  feeling  minds  must  suffer  from  sympathy,  experi- 
ence, or  anticipation. 

Kind  parents  seek  to  conceal  from  an  idolized 
child  the  sorrow  that  is  preying  on  their  hearts,  and 
thank  Heaven  that,  shielded  from  trials  like  theirs,  she 
basks  in  the  sunshine  of  happiness.  But  does  not  the 

(299) 


300  THE  YOUNG  LADY'S  HOME. 

quick  eye  of  the  affectionate  daughter  perceive  the  least 
shadow  that  rests  on  faces  so  dear  ?  Yet  she  is  aware 
that  to  believe  her  a  participator  would  add  to  their 
pain,  and  therefore  appears  as  unconscious  as  they 
would  wish  her  in  reality  to  be.  As  their  footsteps  die 
away,  how  fades  that  bright  smile  that  afforded  them 
such  pure  pleasure,  while  her  busy  mind  hurries  over  all 
possible  sources  of  their  distress,  and  perhaps  fastens  on 
a  cause  greater  than  the  true  one.  Day  after  day,  she 
watches  each  shade  of  expression  on  their  countenances, 
and  a  frown  on  her  father's  brow,  or  pensiveness  in  her 
mother's  eye,  adds  to  the  heaviness  of  her  heart,  from 
her  incapability  to  afford  comfort  or  relief. 

Or,  it  may  be,  health  has  been  refused  to  some  dear 
member  of  the  family  circle.  Who  feels  more  keenly 
for  the  sufferings  of  the  poor  invalid,  than  the  tender- 
hearted sister?  Is  it  nothing  to  watch  the  bodily  anguish 
of  those  we  love,  —  to  know  that  the  happiness  of  all 
who  are  nearest  and  dearest  to  us  is  bound  up  in  one 
frail  life,  and  then  mark  the  wasting  form  and  failing 
strength  ? 

If  sympathy  may  thus  be  the  cause  of  sorrow,  expe- 
rience must  teach  even  the  young  many  a  bitter  lesson. 
Variously  clad,  the  skeleton  still  dwells  in  every  man- 
sion. The  unworthiness  of  those  whom  nature  teaches 
us  to  cherish  with  untiring  affection  is  a  source  of  incal- 
culable misery.  This  sorrow  asks  not  pity  from  the 
world,  and  may  be  hid  beneath  forced  spirits  an-d  a  gay 
smile,  or  betray  itself  in  the  careworn  cheek  and  sunken 
eye.  While  sin  reigns,  this  spring  of  unhappiness  will 
exist,  and  religion  only  can  remove  its  bitterness. 

The  unsuspecting  innocence  of  youth  often  lays  itself 
open  to  calumny,  and  many,  wounded  by  injustice,  for 


CHRISTIAN    DUTY.  301 

which  they  were  unprepared,  early  have  the  seeds  of 
misanthropy  implanted  in  their  hearts.  And  evil  pas- 
sions in  their  own  hearts  assault  the  young  with  a  thou- 
sand temptations.  If  these  are  submitted  to,  misery 
must  ensue ;  if  not,  the  struggle  will  be  obstinate  and 
painful.  To  form  good  habits  is  more  difficult  than  to 
maintain  them,  and  this  should  be  the  task  of  the  young. 

But  there  is  one  trial  common  to  all.  Death  is  in 
the  world.  This  thought  is  enough  to  scatter  the  roses 
from  the  most  blooming  cheek,  and  dim  the  brightest 
eye.  The  first  loss  of  a  near  friend  is  an  era  in  life. 
It  seems  to  awaken  us  from  the  dream  we  had  so  long 
indulged,  —  to  open  to  our  view  the  realities  of  the  un- 
seen world.  A  tie  is  formed  between  us  and  the  Invis- 
ible, and  now  a  familiar  form  appears  to  us  among  the 
unknown  ones  of  that  spirit-land.  The  heart  can  hardly 
believe  that  the  friend  on  whom  it  had  lavished  such 
affection,  with  whom  all  its  plans  of  bliss  for  life  were 
blended,  is  indeed  removed,  and  shrinks  back  from 
forming  any  bond  which  can  be  so  suddenly,  so  entirely, 
annulled.  It  had  given  its  affection  with  a  fulness  and 
confidence,  unlike  the  trembling  insecurity  of  those 
whom  years  have  reft  of  many  dear  ones ;  and  this 
confidence  has  been  completely  destroyed.  Then  first 
is  realized  the  truth,  that  the  lost  cannot  return  to  us, 
—  that  we  must  go  to  them.  Too  often  this  bright 
world  is  then  viewed,  not  as  a  sphere  where  we  have 
allotted  duties  to  perform,  but  a  dreary  void,  where 
they  are  not ;  and  we  look  up  to  heaven  with  delight, 
not  because  it  is  our  Father's  mansion,  but  because  they 
are  there.  Happy  are  those  who  have  learnt  from  their 
first  affliction  to  set  their  hearts  on  things  above  ! 

Anticipated  trials  are  a  class  of  troubles  which  meet 
26 


302  THE  YOUNG  LADY'S  HOME. 

with  little  sympathy,  but  must  often  cloud  the  brow  of 
the  thoughtful  and  imaginative.  The  propensity  to 
look  forward  is  natural,  and  is,  in  our  lighter  moments, 
a  source  of  pleasure ;  but  there  are  times  when  the 
dark  side  of  the  picture  will  present  itself.  Even  with 
the  flush  of  delight,  when  we  anticipate  the  acquisition 
of  some  long-desired  object,  blends  the  idea  of  melan- 
choly changes  that  must  occur  ere  our  wishes  are  ful- 
filled. If  our  own  lives  are  spared  to  any  length,  we 
must  see  the  decay,  if  not  the  death,  of  our  best  friends. 
For  the  moment,  the  grief  at  such  calamities  is  ours, 
without  the  strength  to  sustain  it  which  mercifully  ac- 
companies real  trials.  The  first  gray  hairs  that  steal 
around  the  brow  we  venerate,  carry  a  chill  to  the  heart, 
for  they  remind  us,  that,  when  age  has  set  its  seal  upon 
that  brow,  the  strong  mind  we  reverenced  may  be 
broken  down,  and  the  firm  tread  changed  for  the  tot- 
tering step  of  infancy.  O,  who  can  anticipate  without 
emotion  the  helpless  second  childhood  of  the  honored 
and  loved !  But  we  must  sustain  the  departure,  as  well 
as  the  decay,  of  many  of  these  dear  ones.  How  fraught 
with  wretchedness  is  this  idea !  It  seems,  indeed, 
"  easier  to  die  for  those  we  love,  than  to  live  without 
their  vanished  light,"  and  we  cannot  believe  a  ray  of 
joy  will  fall  upon  us  when  these  stars  are  set. 

To  a  woman,  the  view  of  the  future  must  be  a  source 
of  deep  anxiety.  The  uncertainty  where  her  home  will 
be,  is  more  trying,  because  her  greatest  happiness  or 
misery  will  centre  within  that  home.  How  must  she, 
the  timid  and  retiring,  shrink  from  the  idea,  that  a  time 
may  come  when  she  must  stand  alone  and  unprotected, 
a  solitary  woman,  a  forsaken  wife,  or  a  desolate  widow. 
The  possibility  of  such  an  event  steals  upon  those  who, 


CHRISTIAN    DUTY.  303 

to  all  outward  appearances,  have  the  greatest  prospect 
of  happiness. 

"O  prophet  heart;  thy  grief,  thy  power, 

To  all  deep  souls  belong,— 
The  shadow  in  the  musing  hour, 
The  wail  in  the  mirthful  song." 

Such  are  some  of  the  trials  to  which  the  young  of  our 
sex  may  be  subjected,  even  in  the  bosom  of  their  own 
kind  families.  To  those  arising  from  misplaced  or 
hopeless  affection,  we  will  not  advert.  They  who  have 
felt  them  know  their  bitterness ;  and  may  those  who 
have  not,  long  remain  in  ignorance !  A  thousand  little 
perplexities  and  contrarieties  are  common  to  all,  and  of 
daily  occurrence.  Though  small  in  themselves,  by 
their  frequency  they  may  injure  the  temper  and  impair 
the  happiness. 

Yet,  after  this  terrible  array  of  possible  and  probable 
trials,  we  would  assert  that  uniform  cheerfulness  is  im- 
peratively a  Christian  duty.  The  worldling  may  turn 
away  from  trouble  ;  the  philosopher  look  upon  it  with 
calmness ;  but  the  Christian  only  can  smile  upon  it. 
Turn  now  to  your  blessings  and  privileges,  and  see  how 
far  they  outnumber  privations  and  sorrows.  Nay,  were 
your  lot  all  darkness,  with  no  ray  of  hope  for  this 
life,  the  possibility  of  attaining  immortal  happiness  were 
enough  to  fill  your  heart  with  gratitude.  How  have 
you  ever  deseived  the  kindness  that  has  reared  you, 
made  you  capable  of  enjoyment,  and  surrounded  you 
with  blessings?  Do  you  not  fear  if  in  the  midst  of 
these  you  indulge  in  repining,  something  may  be  taken 
from  you,  whose  loss  will  make  all  you  have  ever  suf 
fered  before,  seem  as  nothing  ?  You  acknowledge,  per- 
haps, the  claims  of  gratitude,  and  desire  to  fulfil  them, 


304 

but  cannot  maintain  your  composure  when  the  pressure 
of  trouble  is  upon  you.  It  will  require  great  effort  to 
attain  that  even  tenor  of  mind ;  but  still  it  is  possible. 
Many  suppose  that  persons  of  naturally  excitable  disposi- 
tions can  easily  preserve  uniform  cheerfulness  ;  but  this 
is  far  from  the  truth,  for  they  have  constantly  the  double 
task  of  guarding  themselves  from  elevation  or  depres- 
sion of  spirits.  There  is  continual  danger  that  they 
will  incur  the  charge  of  inconsistency,  by  the  appear- 
ance of  levity  or  thoughtless  mirth.  But  such  should 
not  despair,  for  if  they  can  properly  regulate  their  unruly 
spirits,  they  will  become  an  honour  to  the  cause  of  reli- 
gion, and  a  blessing  to  those  around  them. 

Cheerfulness  may  be  essentially  promoted  by  the  cul- 
tivation of  a  firm  trust  in  the  providence  of  God,  active 
benevolence,  and  a  constant  sense  of  the  realities  of  the 
world  to  come. 

All  evils,  excepting  those  attendant  on  our  own  sins, 
whether  coming  through  the  instrumentality  of  our  fel- 
low-beings, or  what  are  called  the  chances  of  life,  are 
inflicted  by  the  hand  of  God.  Let  us  bear  this  con- 
stantly in  mind,  with  his  assurance  that  all  things  work 
together  for  good  to  those  who  love  him.  If  it  be  as- 
certained that  we  are  of  those  who  love  him,  we  have 
no  reason  to  fear,  whatever  they  may  be,  that  our  trials 
will  result  in  any  thing  but  our  best  good.  Your  cheer- 
fulness, then,  should  be  founded  on  the  belief  that  you 
are  one  of  that  number,  to  whom  the  Ruler  of  all,  has 
vouchsafed  so  many  promises  of  his  care  and  protection. 
It  is  sometimes  difficult  to  realize  that  the  most  trivial 
events  are  ordained  by  the  Omnipotent, — yet  he  often 
brings  from  them  the  most  important  results.  Some 
slight  occurrence  will  suggest  to  our  minds  a  thought 


CHRISTIAN    DUTY.  305 

followed  by  a  train  of  others,  producing  a  material 
change  in  our  conduct.  Trace  in  your  lives  and  your 
hearts  the  steps  by  which  you  have  been  benefited,  and 
you  will  see,  that  what  at  the  time  seemed  to  be  trials 
have  proved  blessings.  With  the  firm  persuasion  that 
every  affliction  is  intended  for  some  beneficent  end, 
study,  as  it  were,  the  purposes  of  God,  and  see  how 
you  can  aid  in  rendering  his  chastening  useful  to  yourself. 
Is  a  wish  denied,  think  what  evils  might  have  resulted 
had  it  been  gratified.  Are  those  who  are  nearly  con- 
nected with  you  unworthy  of  respect,  and  the  inflicters 
of  continual  pain  ?  Here  is  a  special  call  upon  you  to 
let  your  light  shine,  to  exercise  kindness  and  forbear- 
ance, to  avoid  those  faults  which  produce  such  misery, 
and  to  place  your  affections  more  strongly  on  that 
Friend  who  knew  no  sin.  Do  not  seek  to  forget  or  veil 
from  yourself  the  extent  of  your  trials.  Nothing  can 
produce  a  more  unhappy  frame  of  mind,  than  that  caused 
by  turning  away  from  an  evil,  yet  carrying  the  conscious- 
ness of  its  existence  like  a  load  upon  the  heart.  View, 
then,  your  situation  in  all  its  bearings,  and  school  your- 
self with  divine  assistance,  till  you  can  exclaim,  with 
deep  sincerity,  "  Thy  will  be  done!" 

From  all  anticipations  of  future  suffering,  perfect  faith 
alone  can  secure  us.  How  often  in  the  Bible  we  are 
exhorted  to  refrain  from  anxiety  as  to  what  may  befall 
us,  and  encouraged  to  cast  all  our  care  upon  the  Lord ! 
If  you  have  consecrated  yourself  to  Him,  you  have 
placed  yourself  entirely  at  his  disposal, —  do  you  fear 
that  your  confidence  has  been  misplaced  ?  Many  of  the 
evils  you  dread  will  never  happen,  and  if  they  do,  your 
Almighty  Father  has  promised,  that  "  as  your  day  is, 
so  shall  your  strength  be."  The  fear  of  death  may 
26* 


306 

have  obtained  dominion  over  you,  but  it  may  be  con- 
quered by  fixing  your  eyes  on  Him  who  will  guide  you 
through  the  dark  valley  himself  has  trod,  and  who  will 
receive  you  in  his  everlasting  arms.  Trusting  in  the 
wisdom  and  love  of  an  Almighty  Friend,  what  is  there 
in  your  present  afflictions  or  future  prospects  to  cloud 
the  sunshine  of  Christian  cheerfulness  ? 

The  cultivation  of  active  benevolence  is  of  great  as- 
sistance in  promoting  this  virtue.  Selfishness  is  always 
a  cause  of  misery,  and  the  more  disinterested  we  can 
become,  the  more  our  happiness  is  increased.  The 
mind  that  continually  dwells  upon  its  own  thoughts  and 
feelings  will  inevitably  become  gloomy ;  but,  when  it 
looks  away  from  itself,  finds  a  healthful  glow  of  satisfac- 
tion. How  many,  almost  heart-broken,  have  engaged  in 
works  of  philanthropy,  and  found,  in  their  prosecution, 
that  cheerfulness  which  they  feared  had  for  ever  fled 
from  them !  The  consciousness  of  being  the  instru- 
ment of  good,  of  adding  to  the  sum  of  human  happi- 
ness, if  only  by  a  kind  word,  will  drive  away  sad 
thoughts.  When  you  compare  what  you  deem  trials 
with  those  of  the  poor  and  ignorant,  you  will  learn  to 
blush  for  your  ingratitude.  Education  has  opened  to 
you  a  thousand  sources  of  pleasure,  and  competence 
and  station  have  given  you  the  means  of  enjoying  them. 
See  what  bitterness  is  mingled  in  every  cup,  and  until 
you  can  find  one  with  whom,  in  every  respect,  you 
would  wish  to  exchange,  deem  not  yourself  unhappy. 
Let  your  life  be  a  succession  of  efforts  for  the  happi- 
ness of  others,  and  you  will  never  complain  of  being 
miserable. 

But  a  habit  of  looking  forward  to  our  brighter  inherit- 
ance is  the  greatest  solace  amidst  the  cares  of  our  pres- 


CHRISTIAN    DUTY.  307 

ent  condition.  Who  heeds  the  inconveniences  of  a 
wintry  journey,  when  at  its  close  he  finds  himself  in  the 
bosom  of  his  dearest  friends  ?  How  very  slight  should 
every  evil  appear,  while  the  hope  of  that  blest  state  re- 
mains to  cheer  us!  "It  will  not  matter  a  hundred 
years  hence,"  is  a  common  saying,  but  it  is  not  the  lan- 
guage of  Christian  resignation,  or  founded  in  truth. 
Every  trial,  if  improved,  will  help  us  on  our  way  to  that 
rest,  where  we  hope,  when  ages  have  elapsed,  we  may 
dwell.  The  sainted  spirits  that  stand  around  the  throne, 
who  "have  through  great  affliction  trod,"  will  not  con- 
sider as  of  little  importance  any  chastening,  which,  by 
purifying  their  hearts,  may  have  aided  in  preparing  them 
to  sing  the  song  now  swelling  forth,  of  "  Worthy  is  the 
Lamb." 

Christian  cheerfulness  is  a  valuable  auxiliary  to  Chris- 
tian morals.  They  who  witnessed  that  of  the  ancient 
martyrs  were  induced  to  seek  the  cause  which  could 
produce  such  effects,  and  in  our  day  many  may  be  thus 
led  to  the  fountain  from  which  such  happiness  appears 
to  be  derived.  Those  young  persons  who  profess  our 
holy  religion,  should  engage  in  its  duties,  not  as  if  they 
were  tasks,  but  pleasures  and  privileges,  and  manifest 
to  the  world  that  it  is  their  chief  enjoyment,  as  well  as 
their  chief  obligation,  to  worship  God.  The  spirit  of 
love  should  beam  forth  from  their  countenances,  and  dis- 
play itself  in  their  actions,  in  a  kind  word  to  the  old, 
or  a  smile  of  encouragement  to  the  child.  Contradict, 
then,  by  your  daily  walk  and  conversation,  the  erroneous 
idea,  that  piety  is  too  gloomy  for  the  bright  period  of 
youth. 

It  is  the  peculiar  duty  of  woman  to  maintain  a  cheerful 
heart.  Protected  from  the  trials  and  cares  to  which  the 


308 

other  sex  are  exposed,  to  her  they  turn  for  comfort  and 
consolation.  And  nobly  does  she  afford  it  in  the  time 
of  darkness  and  affliction ;  but  too  often  in  apparent 
prosperity,  instead  of  cheering  those  who  are  annoyed 
with  a  thousand  nameless  vexations,  she  adds  to  their 
perplexities  and  cares.  How  lovely  does  she  appear 
to  whom  all  in  the  domestic  circle  turn  for  sympathy  in 
their  joy,  and  who,  with  winning  kindness,  beguiles  them 
from  their  sorrow !  The  little  one,  tottering  on  the  floor, 
clears  his  discontented  face  and  breaks  into  a  merry 
laugh,  as  he  catches  the  reflection  of  her  sweet  smile. 
The  poor,  too,  pray  that  God  may  bless  her,  whose 
presence  is  ever  to  them  such  a  rich  blessing.  Cherish, 
then,  in  the  spring-time  of  life,  that  cheerfulness  which 
is  the  « bloom  and  effluence"  of  Christianity,  and  its 
fragrance  shall  be  shed  around  your  declining  years,  and 
linger,  when  the  spirit  is  fled,  in  a  sweet  smile,  over  the 
face  that  even  in  death  it  can  make  lovely. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

CHRISTIAN  DUTY. 

FORGIVENESS   AND   FORBEARANCE;    SELF-DENIAL,    SELF-GOVERN- 
MENTj    PRAYER. 

"Wisdom  is  humble,  said  the  voice  of  God. 
'T  is  proud,  the  world  replied.     Wisdom,  said  God, 
Forgives,  forbears,  and  suffers,  not  for  fear 
Of  man,  but  God. 
Wisdom  mistrusts  itself,  and  leans  on  Heaven." 

ALTHOUGH  happily  sheltered  from  the  rough  encoun- 
ter of  the  world,  yet  you  may  not  altogether  escape  un- 
kindness  and  injustice.  Your  motives  may  be  misun- 
derstood or  misinterpreted ;  envy  may  watch  you  with 
spiteful  eye ;  jealousy  be  inquisitive  and  quick-sighted 
to  your  faults;  and  malice  vent  itself  in  contemptuous 
sneers  and  calumnious  words.  And  what  are  you  to 
oppose  to  these  hateful  passions?  Forbearance  and 
forgiveness. 

It  was  the  saying  of  a  wise  heathen,  —  "Reform  an 
injurious  person  if  you  can ;  if  not,  remember  your  pa- 
tience was  given  you  to  bear  with  him ;  that  the  gods 
patiently  bear  with  such  men,  and  sometimes  bestow 
upon  them  health,  and  fame,  and  fortune."  Christian 
morality  goes  farther,  commanding  not  only  forgiveness, 
but  the  exercise  of  kindness,  towards  those  who  have 
injured  us  ;  to  do  good  to  those  who  hate  us,  thus  call- 
ing into  exercise  the  noblest  effort  of  which  human  na- 

(309) 


310 

ture  is  capable,  the  fulfilling  of  the  law  of  holiness, — 
"  Love  your  enemies." 

If  your  enemies  misunderstand  your  motives,  it  mat- 
ters little  if  they  are  such  as  you  can  lay  open  to  the 
eyes  of  Him  who  sits  as  a  "refiner  and  purifier."  If 
you  are  led,  by  their  severity,  to  a  clearer  discernment 
of  your  own  motives,  to  a  closer  scrutiny  into  your 
own  conduct,  they  in  effect  serve  you  better  than  your 
flatterers,  —  even  better  than  your  friends.  "You  will 
form  your  own  character,  nor  can  your  enemies  pre- 
vent it.  Their  calumny  will  injure  you  less  than  you 
imagine." 

Injuries,  real  or  supposed,  are  not  to  be  met  with  a 
haughty  and  contemptuous  spirit.  Loathing  and  dis- 
daining meanness  and  sinfulness,  avoid  transferring  your 
hatred  to  the  beings  who  are  guilty  of  them.  Hatred, 
malice,  and  all  evil  passions,  burn  themselves  with  the 
firebrands  they  throw,  poison  themselves  with  their  own 
deadly  mixtures.  They  whose  bosoms  are  haunted  by 
these  demons  should  not  meet  with  condemnation  alone ; 
they  should  call  forth  the  deepest  commiseration.  When 
you  can  "pray  for  those  who  despitefully  use  and  per- 
secute you,"  not  generally,  but  individually,  it  is  the 
surest  proof  that  they  are  entirely  forgiven.  The  Chris- 
tian's heart  should  bound  to  offer  forgiveness,  even  to 
those  offending  ones  who  will  not  ask  it.  Blessed  in- 
deed is  that  spirit,  which,  in  humble  imitation  of  the 
divine  Redeemer,  can  say,  —  "Father,  forgive  them, 
for  they  know  not  what  they  do." 

But  not  alone  towards  enemies  is  the  spirit  of  Chris- 
tian forbearance  to  be  exercised.  Such,  alas!  is  fallen 
human  nature,  that  the  best  and  loveliest  of  earthly 
friends  have  their  darker  shades  of  character.  We 


CHRISTIAN   DUTY.  311 

should  be  foolishly  employed  in  endeavouring,  day  after 
day,  to  count  the  spots  upon  the  glorious  sun ;  to  dweL 
upon  the  faults  of  those  whom  we  love  would  be  equal 
folly.  Habitually  to  interpret  their  motives  kindly,  to 
make  charitable  allowances  for  their  weakness,  to  use 
every  favorable  opportunity  to  draw  forth  their  excel- 
lence, to  endeavor  to  correct  their  faults  by  example 
and  by  advice,  unostentatiously  offered ;  this  is  the  task 
of  Christian  forbearance. 

Excessive  sensitiveness  to  unkindness  or  to  dislike 
should  not  be  suffered  to  mar  your  happiness.  This 
may  arise  from  morbid  sensibility,  or  from  pride.  In 
either  case,  you  will  be  disturbed  by 

"A  something  light  as  air,  —  a  look, 
A  word  unkind  or  wrongly  taken," 

from  the  friends  whom  you  fondly  love,  and  weeks  of 
dejection  be  the  consequence.  No  better  remedy  can 
be  prescribed,  than  a  cordial,  wholesome  kindliness  of 
manner  on  your  own  part,  which  will  most  probably  call 
forth  the  same  manner  from  your  friends.  Practise  that 
true  Christian  courtesy,  recommended  by  the  Apostle 
Paul,  and  so  beautifully  exemplified  by  our  blessed 
Saviour  in  all  his  social  intercourse.  This  courtesy 
exhibits  itself  from  day  to  day,  in  those  "thousand 
decencies"  that  give  to  life  its  sweetness.  If,  notwith- 
standing your  own  kindliness,  you  have  true  friends  who 
are  deficient  in  courtesy,  their  want  of  suavity  should 
not  alienate  you  ;  with  this  unfortunate  deficiency,  their 
hearts  may  be  kind  and  benevolent.  Habituate  yourself 
to  their  unpleasing  manners,  and  steel  yourself  against 
them  ;  a  rough  rind  often  incloses  fruit  that  is  sweet  and 
nutritious. 

The   sensitiveness   that   leads   you    to  entertain  sus- 


312 

picions  of  your  friends  may  arise  from  pride  ;  their  neg- 
lect or  apparent  unkindness  may  have  been  accidental, 
and  you  must  exercise  severe  censorship  over  yourself 
to  overcome  this  tormentor.  There  is  need  of  forbear- 
ance towards  persons  who  differ  from  you  in  opinion. 
A  dogmatical,  bigoted  spirit  will  never  win  any  one  to 
the  truth.  Error  may  be  maintained  with  the  utmost 
pertinacity,  even  when  it  is  seen  to  be  error,  if  those 
who  oppose  it  do  it  in  an  ungracious,  obnoxious  manner. 
When  endeavouring  to  manifest  your  firm  adherence  to 
right  principles,  Christian  forbearance  demands  that  you 
should  not  "  be  puffed  up,"  nor  "  behave  yourself  un- 
seemly." To  the  obstinacy  of  error  you  must  oppose 
a  spirit  "kind,  gentle,  easy  to  be  entreated,"  without 
sacrificing  an  iota  of  truth. 

The  question  is  often  asked  by  the  young,  "  How  can 
I  practise  the  duty  of  self-denial  ?"  An  enlightened  con- 
science will  alone  lead  to  the  answer.  The  endless  dif- 
ferences in  the  condition  and  circumstances  of  individuals 
render  it  impossible  to  offer  rules  that  will  be  universally 
applicable.  A  sordid,  selfish  Christian !  This  is  an 
utter  impossibility.  The  very  foundation  of  the  Chris- 
tian character  is  that  love  which  is  self-denying,  self- 
sacrificing.  A  mother's  love,  a  mother's  self-denial, 
are  often  spoken  of  as  strong  and  wonderful ;  but  this 
is  a  law  of  her  nature ;  she  cannot  break  it  without  be- 
coming, in  the  eyes  of  all  beings,  a  monster.  A  selfish 
mother!  Who  does  not  burn  with  indignation  at  the 
very  idea  ?  The  law  of  the  Christian's  nature  is  love, 
and  how  can  it  exist  where  selfishness  reigns  ? 

Can  He,  whose  whole  mortal  pilgrimage  was  a  series 
of  self-denying  labors,  ending  with  the  sacrifice  of  his 
life  upon  the  ignominious  cross,  —  can  He  recognize  his 


CHRISTIAN    DUTY.  313 

own  image  in  a  sordid,  selfish,  grasping  being,  whose 
thoughts  are  bent  upon  the  display  of  beauty  or  wealth, 
and  self-glorification  ? 

Not  a  single  revolution  of  the  earth  takes  place,  with- 
out affording  you  many  opportunities  for  self-denial. 
Vanity  makes  large  demands  upon  your  time  and  money ; 
examine  how  many  things,  that  minister  solely  to  her 
gratification,  you  can  strike  off  and  make  over  to  another 
account. 

It  is  very  trying  to  you  to  be  thought  less  intelligent, 
less  generous,  less  worthy,  than  you  really  are ;  still 
more  so,  to  be  accused  of  what  you  are  not  guilty ;  you 
may  practise  self-denial,  by  patiently  leaving  these  erro- 
neous opinions  to  be  rectified  just  when  Divine  Provi- 
dence shall  afford  you  the  opportunity ;  by  being  con- 
tented, without  administering  rebuke  in  any  other  way 
than  by  becoming  more  worthy  and  more  humble.  The 
Lord  of  glory,  adored  by  cherubim  and  seraphim,  made 
himself,  for  your  sake,  a  man  of  no  reputation ;  it  is  a 
small  matter  to  deny  yourself  the  praise  of  men,  if 
thereby  you  become  more  assimilated  to  him  in  meek- 
ness and  lowliness  of  heart.  It  is  possible  that  pride  is 
the  very  plague-spot  in  your  heart,  which  the  chastening 
mercy  of  your  Heavenly  Father  is  thus  eradicating,  that 
the  beauty  of  holiness  may  be  perfected.  Love,  peace, 
joy,  cannot  maintain  their  kindly  companionship,  where 
selfishness  wields  her  tyrannic  sceptre. 

The  gratification  of  your  own  taste,  the  exhibition  of 
your  accomplishments,  and  even  your  highest  intellectual 
pursuits,  you  may  be  called  upon  to  sacrifice  for  the 
good  of  others.  If  there  is  unity  of  principle  in  your 
mind,  these  opportunities,  whenever  they  occur,  will  call 
Into  exercise  Christian  self-denial.  It  is  not  alone  the 
27 


314 

great  occasions  of  life,  where  heroic  magnanimity  that 
will  dazzle  every  beholder  can  be  shown,  that  will  test 
the  strength  of  your  principles.  "  It  is  easier  to  die 
like  a  martyr  than  to  live  like  a  Christian."  It  is 
easier  to  bestow  a  large  amount  of  time  and  money 
upon  a  popular  charity,  cheered  by  the  world's  applause, 
than  to  practise  some  silent,  simple  act  of  self-denial 
from  day  to  day,  for  the  good  of  a  friend,  for  which, 
perchance,  you  receive  nothing  but  blame  from  that 
very  friend.  The  mountain  cataract  dashes  down  the 
precipice  with  deafening  roar,  and  sends  up  its  iris- 
bedecked  spray,  exciting  wonder  and  admiration,  while 
the  nameless  little  river  pursues  its  noiseless  way,  im- 
parting freshness  and  beauty  to  overhanging  trees 
and  water-loving  plants,  till  it  loses  itself  in  the  larger 
stream  which  bears  its  tributary  waters  onward  to  the 
ocean. 

The  task  of  self-government  has  been  already  com- 
menced if  you  have  entered  upon  the  Christian  warfare, 
and  you  find  it  no  easy  task.  The  passions  have  the 
mastery  in  minds  not  controlled  by  philosophy  or  by  the 
religion  of  Jesus  Christ.  Precepts  and  prohibitions  are 
of  little  avail,  unless  the  whole  soul  is  brought  under  the 
dominion  of  holiness  as  a  governing  principle.  No  tem- 
per is  so  perfectly  sweet,  as  not  to  require  watchfulness ; 
there  is  not  a  sinful  being  in  the  universe,  who  does  not 
need  to  set  a  guard  over  all  the  avenues  to  temptation. 
The  Apostle  does  not  say,  — "  Be  not  angry;"  for 
there  are  occasions  when  it  would  be  as  impossible  to 
prevent  the  momentary  emotion  of  anger,  as  it  would  be 
to  stay  the  mantling  blood,  whose  "  ready  play"  crim- 
sons the  cheek  of  wounded  modesty.  He  says, —  "  Be 
angry  and  sin  not ;  let  not  the  sun  go  down  upon  your 


CHRISTIAN    DUTY.  31b 

wrath."     Anger  may  glance  into  the  breast  of  a   wise 
man,  but  it,  "rests  in  the  bosom  of  fools." 

Self-government  is,  of  course,  a  much  more  difficult 
task  for  the  irritable,  the  passionate,  the  sanguine,  than 
for  the  naturally  amiable.  The  disposition  which  a  hap- 
py few  possess  resembles  the  climate  of  some  sweet 
island  of  the  Pacific  Ocean,  where  no  violent  storms 
ever  agitate  the  mild  and  uniform  temperature  ;  while 
others  are  like  our  West  Indies,  where  the  hurricane  and 
tornado  are  frequent  visitants.  If  you  possess  an  equa- 
ble flow  of  animal  spirits,  it  is  impossible  for  you  to 
conceive  of  the  difficulty  of  restraining  arid  controlling 
an  impetuous,  impulsive  temperament.  The  Apostles  St. 
John  and  St.  Paul  exemplified  this  natural  difference  in 
temperament.  The  beloved  disciple  must  have  possessed 
an  angelic  sweetness  of  disposition,  a  kindliness,  and  a 
beautiful  equanimity,  which  rendered  him  the  soothing, 
gentle  friend,  upon  whose  bosom  the  Saviour  could  lean 
at  the  social  board ;  he  maintained  in  old  age  the  same 
characteristics,  and  when  he  could  no  longer  write  or 
preach  the  blessed  gospel,  his  benign  countenance  ex- 
pressed the  fulness  of  his  heart  as  he  went  about,  say- 
ing,—  "Little  children,  love  one  another."  St.  Paul, 
fiery,  impatient,  and  sanguine,  —  "When  he  would  do 
good,  evil  was  present  with  him ;"  yet  what  fervent 
zeal,  what  self-sacrificing  devotedness,  what  watchful- 
ness, what  fearless  and  persevering  ardor,  resulted  from 
such  a  temperament,  brought,  by  divine  grace,  into  sub- 
jection to  the  law  of  holiness!  Like  an  avalanche  ar- 
rested in  its  course  of  devastation,  and  made  a  monu- 
ment of  glory  and  beauty  upon  some  lofty  eminence, 
stands  the  Apostle  Paul.  With  such  an  example  in 
view,  let  none  despair.  If  the  crown  of  glory  is  won 


316  THE    YOUNG    LADY's    HOME. 

through  intensity  of  strife,  will  it  be  less  brilliant  ? 
When  it  shall  be  cast  down  at  the  foot  of  His  throne 
•whose  grace  was  sufficient  aid  for  the  final  victory,  will 
the  song  of  "  Worthy  is  the  Lamb  "  flow  with  faint  and 
feeble  love  from  such  a  redeemed  spirit?  No;  these 
are  the  sealed  servants  of  the  Lord,  "  who  have  come 
out  of  great  tribulation,"  and  triumphantly  joyous  will 
be  their  song,  when  "God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears 
from  their  eyes." 

All  other  Christian  duties  will  be  performed  with  little 
pleasure,  and  with  faint,  remitted  effort,  without  habitual 
performance  of  the  first  of  Christian  duties,  prayer. 
Unless  this  be  to  you  the  very  gate  of  heaven,  where  you 
delight  to  linger,  you  will  not  have  that  fulness  of  evi- 
dence of  things  not  seen,  which  is  the  life  of  religion. 
Where  else  can  you  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  glory  of 
heaven,  but  in  the  sanctuary  and  in  the  closet,  where 
this  world,  with  its  dangerous  allurements,  is  shut  out, 
and  the  soul  holds  communion  with  its  Maker  and  Re- 
deemer ?  A  devotional  spirit  is  the  best  guard  against 
temptation,  and  the  surest  pledge  of  fidelity  to  your  Lord 
and  Master.  The  true  ends  and  design  of  prayer  are 
"  to  impress  deeply  upon  the  mind  a  sense  of  the  pres- 
ence of  God,  our  dependence  on,  and  accountableness  to, 
him  ;  suitably  to  dispose  and  prepare  the  mind  for  the 
reception  of  divine  favors ;  to  draw  down  upon  us,  as 
the  means  divinely  constituted,  the  blessings  which  we 
may  from  time  to  time  need  ;  and  to  accustom  ourselves 
beforehand  to  the  exercises  of  heaven." 

To  the  altar  of  grace  you  may  go,  and  lay  open  freely 
all  your  hopes,  joys,  desires,  fears,  disappointments. 
plans  of  usefulness,  temptations,  and  sorrows."  His  ear 
is  open  when  the  morning  dawns,  when  the  sun  sheds 


CHRISTIAN    DUTV.  317 

his  noontide  beams,  and  when  night  comes  on,  with  her 
starry  train.  The  peerless  prophet  Daniel  knew  this, 
when  he  knelt  three  times  a  day  to  worship  the  God  of 
his  fathers  in  a  strange  land,  in  defiance  of  the  idolatrous 
king  who  had  threatened  death  as  the  consequence. 
You,  who  have  no  monarch's  frown  to  dread,  is  there 
still  no  tyranny  of  fear  that  keeps  you  at  a  distance 
from  the  mercy-seat  ?  Are  you  bowing  to  another  idol 
that  your  own  heart  has  set  up  ?  May  conscience  lead 
you  back  to  the  altar  of  the  Lord  your  God,  and  his 
Holy  Spirit  henceforth  be  your  guide  and  inspirer  to 
that  "  effectual  fervent  prayer  which  availeth  much !" 


27* 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

CHRISTIAN  USEFULNESS. 

"  The  dews  came  down  unseen  at  even-tide, 
And  silently  their  bounties  shed,  to  teach 
Mankind  unostentatious  charity. 
With  arm  in  arm,  the  forest  rose  on  high, 
And  lesson  gave  of  brotherly  regard." 

A  MORE  favorable  opportunity  than  the  one  you  now 
enjoy  for  usefulness,  in  the  wide  circle  of  benevolence, 
may  not  present  itself  during  your  whole  life.  Not  yet 
encompassed  by  those  many  cares  that  may  shut  you  out 
in  a  measure  from  this  wide  circle,  you  may  now  learn 
the  luxury  of  doing  good. 

It  is  possible  that  you  have  fancied  this  period  of  your 
life  would  be  one  of  dreamy  leisure.  The  stirring  spirit 
of  the  age  allows  not  the  Christian  to  be  a  secluded  con- 
templatist.  Much  as  there  is  holy  and  heavenly  in  calm 
retirement  and  lonely  meditation,  they  cannot  be  indulged 
in  freely,  and  for  a  length  of  time,  without  encroaching 
upon  other  imperious  duties.  There  is  little  danger, 
however,  that  the  young  Christian,  at  this  eventful  era, 
should  spend  too  much  time  in  this  manner ;  yet  there 
may  possibly  be  here  and  there  an  individual,  feeling  so 
strongly  the  necessity  for  habitual  introspection,  and  the 
difficulty  of  keeping  a  peaceful,  quiet  frame  of  mind 
while  mingling  much  with  human  beings,  as  to  be  solici- 
tous to  preserve  tranquillity  by  retirement.  But  your 

(318) 


CHRISTIAN    USEFULNESS.  319 

divine  Exemplar,  although  occasionally  retiring  to  a 
mountain  for  prayer,  and  to  a  garden  for  meditation  and 
communion  with  his  Heavenly  Father,  spent  his  life  in 
active  benevolence.  One  of  the  old  divines  says, — 
"  Doing  no  harm  is  the  praise  that  might  be  bestowed 
upon  a  stone."  The  Christian  virtues  are  not  all  pas- 
sive,—  the  Christian  life  must  be  active,  energetic,  en- 
terprising. 

"  The  God  of  glory  walks  his  rounds, 

From  day  to  day,  from  year  to  year, 
And  warns  us  each,  with  awful  sound, 
No  longer  stand  ye  idle  here." 

If  you  have  expected  romantic  excitement  and.  inter- 
est in  the  circle  of  benevolence,  you  have  not  entered 
upon  it  with  right  feelings.  The  stimulus  will  soon  be 
exhausted.  Instead  of  the  woodbine- wreathed  cottage, 
with  its  neat  and  rosy  tenants,  grateful  and  good,  the 
poor  to  whom  charity  may  lead  you  will  have  none  of 
these  graceful  accompaniments.  You  may  find  in  the 
abodes  of  poverty  much  to  disgust  a  refined  taste ;  in 
the  gross  manners  and  vulgar  ignorance  of  their  inmates, 
some  things  to  alarm  your  scrupulous  delicacy.  You 
may  find  them  ungrateful,  and  not  seldom  in  our  country, 
with  that  spirit  of  independence  which  sorely  feels  the 
necessity  of  receiving  alms. 

You  have  discharged  but  a  small  part  of  the  duty  of 
benevolence  to  the  poor  by  bestowing  money.  To  the 
sick,  you  may  afford  the  ministry  of  consolation ;  you 
may  make  with  your  own  hands,  those  little  delicacies 
that  their  situation  requires,  and,  while  you  do  good  to 
the  perishing  body,  your  gentle  kindness  may  open  their 
hearts  to  receive  the  more  able  ministrations  of  the  ap- 
pointed messengers  of  mercy.  You  may  stand  by  the 


320 


bed  of  death,  and  calm  the  spirit  that  is  passing  away 
with  the  blessed  promises  of  the  Saviour.  Let  your 
Bible  be  a  constant  companion  in  these  visits.  Select, 
beforehand,  such  passages  as  will  be  applicable  to  the 
condition  of  the  poor,  the  sick,  and  the  afflicted,  and 
read  to  them  with  that  solemnity  and  earnestness  that 
firm  faith  inspires.  To  those  in  health,  you  may  render 
assistance  in  various  ways.  The  poor  woman  who  goes 
out  to  daily  labor  may  not  have  time  for  the  making  of 
her  children's  clothes,  when  she  can  earn  them  ;  or  may 
not  have  ingenuity  enough  to  cut  them.  You  can  often 
render  relief  in  this  way,  where  it  would  be  deemed  al- 
most an  insult  to  offer  pecuniary  aid.  It  is  always  well 
to  encourage  this  spirit  of  honorable  independence  and 
self-respect  in  the  poor.  There  is  a  numerous  class  to 
whom  you  may  be  useful,  by  seeking  out  employment 
for  them.  Alas!  how  many  are  driven  to  despair  be- 
cause they  cannot  find  occupation,  —  how  many  fall  into 
vice  and  ruin !  Benevolent  societies,  which  on  the 
whole  do  so  much  good,  might  sometimes  do  more,  by 
furnishing  work  for  the  poor  than  by  doing  it  for  them. 

There  is  much  to  be  learned,  with  regard  to  the  man- 
ner in  which  you  should  approach  those  whose  station 
in  life  is  different  from  your  own.  Delicacy,  as  well  as 
Christian  meekness,  suggests  that  a  proper  regard  should 
be  paid  even  to  your  dress  and  demeanour,  when  you  go 
to  the  abodes  of  indigence  and  misery.  The  contrast 
is  already  too  striking  between  your  condition  and  those 
to  whom  you  offer  sympathy  and  assistance ;  health, 
competence,  and  cheerfulness, — sickness,  want,  and  sor- 
row ;  remember  the  weakness  of  human  nature,  and  you 
will  not  make  the  contrast  still  more  repulsive  by  a  gay, 
luxurious  exterior,  when  you  go  upon  errands  of  mercy. 


CHRISTIAN    USEFULNESS.  321 

It  may  seem  absurd  to  some  young  ladies  even  to  pro- 
pose that  their  dress,  on  such  occasions,  should  be  pecu- 
liarly neat,  but  very  plain  and  simple ;  but  it  is  hoped 
there  are  others  who  will  deem  it  not  beneath  their 
notice. 

In  your  manners,  avoid,  by  all  means,  a  display  of 
condescension.  Remembering  that  all  mankind  are  your 
brethren,  and  that  God,  in  his  providence,  has  given  you 
those  things  wherein  you  differ,  go  to  the  home  of  the 
destitute  with  a  heart  filled  with  fervent  gratilude,  deep 
humility,  and  Christian  love.  Your  sympathy  will  then 
go  from  the  heart  and  reach  the  heart ;  your  gifts  will  be 
received  without  pain,  because  the  giver  will  be  loved 
and  respected.  If  your  manners,  on  the  contrary,  are 
haughty,  cold,  and  repulsive,  necessity  may  compel  the 
acceptance  of  proffered  charity,  but  the  whole  heart  of 
the  recipient  of  your  bounty  will  revolt,  —  no  gratitude 
will  be  felt  toward  yourself.  Your  manners  must  be 
gentle  and  kind,  simple  and  sincere,  and  thus  possess 
the  dignity  that  will  insure  respect. 

To  the  glorious  efforts  of  the  present  day  for  the  dif- 
fusion of  Christianity,  you  may  lend  your  aid.  What 
cheering,  what  astonishing  intelligence  is  wafted  by  every 
breeze  from  each  quarter  of  the  globe!  China,  long 
impregnable  China,  is  opening  her  imperial  gates  to 
Christian  men:  Persia,  Hindostan,  Greece,  Africa, — 
the  whole  world  is  missionary  ground.  You  may  say, 
despondingly,  —  "And  what  can  I  do?"  Gain  in- 
formation from  every  accessible  source,  and,  while  you 
take  a  general  interest  in  the  missionary  cause,  adopt 
some  particular  object  as  your  own,  in  which  you  will 
take  a  special  interest ;  for  this,  spare  all  that  you  can 
—  do  all  that  you  can.  By  this  concentratior.  of  effort 


3*22 


you  will  accomplish  more,  than  if  your  benevolence 
were  entirely  diffusive.  Classic  Greece  will  have  pecu- 
liar attractions  for  some,  "  the  Celestial  Empire "  for 
others,  and  even  degraded,  miserable  Africa  will  not 
be  forgotten.  Console  yourself  with  the  words  of  the 
philanthropist  Howard, —  "In  God's  hands  no  instru- 
ment is  weak."  Leave  yourself  in  his  hands,  that  he 
may  work  with  you  for  his  glory,  and  the  extension  of 
his  kingdom.  If  there  be  but  a  "  willing  mind,"  he  may 
so  employ  you  that  at  last  you  may  receive  the  joyful 
sentence, —  "Well  done,  good  and  faithful  servant!" 

The  Sunday  school  affords  a  pleasant  field  of  useful- 
ness. To  meet,  from  Sabbath  to  Sabbath,  a  class 
whose  young  affections  you  have  gained,  and  into  whose 
minds  you  have  poured  the  best  of  all  knowledge,  and 
to  see  their  faces  brighten  with  pleasure  at  your  ap- 
proach, is  indeed'  a  sweet  satisfaction.  But  it  is  also 
a  solemn  responsibility.  These  are  immortals,  upon 
whose  plastic  minds  you  are  leaving  an  impress  for 
good  or  for  evil.  You  will  need  heavenly  wisdom  and 
prudence  to  guide  you  in  this  labor  of  love.  It  is  your 
duty  to  look  after  the  welfare  of  those  who  are  thus 
committed  to  your  trust  on  other  days  besides  the 
holy  day  of  teaching.  Visit  them  occasionally  at  their 
homes ;  endeavor  to  gain  the  good-will  of  their  pa- 
rents, and  to  call  in  their  aid  to  deepen  and  fasten  any 
good  impressions  that  you  may  be  enabled  to  make 
upon  their  children.  If  you  do  not  immediately  see 
the  fruits  of  your  labor,  patiently  wait  for  the  grace  of 
God  to  ripen  the  seeds  you  have  sown  ;  and  labor  on, 
in  full  faith  that  he  will,  in  his  own  good  time,  bring 
forth  an  abundant  harvest. 

All   who  are   faint-hearted,  when  they  consider  the 


CHRISTIAN    USEFULNESS.  323 

trifling  apparent  results  of  their  labors  in  the  field  of 
Christian  usefulness,  may  be  encouraged  by  the  follow- 
ing remarks  from  one  of  the  most  powerful  writers*  of 
this  or  any  other  age. 

"The  state  of  the  matter  is  very  simple.  The  Su- 
perior Cause  of  man's  being  made  wise  to  salvation,  in 
appointing  a  system  of  means  to  be  put,  by  human  ac- 
tivity, in  operation  towards  this  effect,  has  connected 
certainly  and  inseparably  with  that  system  some  por- 
tion of  the  accomplishment  of  this  sovereign  good,  which 
would  not  take  place  in  the  absence  of  such  application 
of  means ;  only  he  has  placed  this  certainty  in  the  sys- 
tem of  operation,  as  taken  generally  and  comprehen- 
sively;  leaving,  as  to  human  foresight,  an  ?4?icertainty 
with  respect  to  the  particular  instances  in  which  the  de- 
sired success  shall  be  attained.  His  subordinate  agents 
are  to  proceed  on  this  positive  assurance,  that  the  suc- 
cess shall  be  somewhere,  though  they  cannot  know7  that 
it  will  be  in  one  case  or  in  the  other.  <  In  the  mornino- 

O 

sow  thy  seed,  and  in  the  evening  withhold  not  thy 
hand  ;  for  thou  knowest  not  whether  shall  prosper  this 
or  that.'  There  unquestionably  gleams  forth,  through 
the  plainer  lines  and  through  the  mystical  imagery  of 
prophecy,  the  vision  of  a  better  age,  in  which  the  ap- 
plication of  the  truths  of  religion  to  men's  minds  will  be 
irresistible.  And  what  should  more  naturally  be  inter- 
preted as  one  of  the  dawning  signs  of  its  approach,  than 
a  sudden  wide  movement  at  once  to  clear  their  intel- 
lects, and  bring  the  heavenly  light  to  shine  close  upon 
them?  Let  them  regard  as  one  great  undivided  econ- 
omy and  train  of  operation  these  initiatory  efforts,  and 

*  Foster. 


324 

all  that  is  to  follow,  till  that  time  when  <  all  shall  know 
the  Lord ;'  and  take,  by  anticipation,  as  in  fraternity 
with  the  happier  future  laborers,  their  just  share  of  that 
ultimate  triumph.  Those  active  spirits,  in  the  happier 
stages,  will  look  back  with  this  sentiment  of  kindred 
and  complacency  to  those  who  sustained  the  earlier 
toils  of  the  good  cause,  and  did  not  suffer  their  zeal  to 
languish  under  the  comparative  smallness  of  their  suc- 
cess." 

These  brief  hints  on  Christian  usefulness  are  design- 
ed merely  to  lead  your  minds  to  full  and  conscientious 
inquiry ;  the  happiness  of  an  immortal  spirit  cannot  be 
foun.l  in  selfish  gratification. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 
CONCLUSION. 

LETTEB  FROM  MRS.  CLARA  G TO  ISABELLA       . 

You  going  on  a  mission  ?  You,  my  dear  Isabella,  a 
1  £  single  woman,"  going  to  be  a  teacher  of  heathen  chil- 
dren ?  Pardon  me,  it  makes  rne  smile  to  think  of  it. 
Glad  am  I  that  your  warm  heart  is  interested  in  so  ex- 
cellent a  cause;  but  yet, —  "  But  yet  is  as  a  jailer  to 
bring  forth  some  monstrous  malefactor," — but  yet,  allow 
me  to  say,  that  your  education  and  mode  of  life  have 
not  fitted  you  for  the  arduous  undertaking.  Brought 
up  in  the  lap  of  luxury,  neither  your  physical  nor  your 
mental  constitution,  renders  you  a  suitable  person  to  en- 
dure the  trials  of  the  missionary  life.  I  fear  it  is  not 
alone  the  sun-light  of  an  awakened  conscience  that  has 
led  you  to  this  decision;  your  fervid  imagination,  dear 
Isabella,  has  had  much  to  do  in  the  case;  you  must 
look  at  it  with  the  clear  eye  of  sober  reason.  Bright 
revealings  of  a  future  world  have  dawned  upon  you ; 
joy  and  hope  have  sprung  up,  and  a  noble  disdain  of 
earth  has  for  a  time  taken  possession  of  your  ardent 
mind.  But,  dear  Isabella,  the  self-denying,  much- 
enduring  missionary  must  be  clad  in  the  whole  Chris- 
tian panoply ;  must  possess  stability ,  and  firmness,  and 
courage,  to  encounter  hardships,  danger,  and  death 
itself.  If  you  are  prepared  for  martyrdom,  you  are 
prepared  for  a  missionary.  Thanks  be  to  God,  few  of 
28  (325) 


326 

those  who  now  take  "  their  lives  in  their  hand"  and  go 
to  the  heathen  are  called  to  offer  them  up  on  the  altar 
of  missionary  zeal;  yet,  they  have  need  of  the  very 
firmest  faith,  the  most  undaunted  courage ;  for  even  that 
last  trial,  if  need  be,  may  come.  If  God,  in  his  all- 
wise  providence,  has  not  fitted  you  nor  me,  my  dear 
friend,  for  this  calling,  which  seems  so  glorious  and 
beautiful,  let  us  be  grateful  that  there  are  many  whom 
he  has  chosen  and  called, —  whose  self-denying  labors 
will  meet  their  reward,  we  trust,  on  earth ;  if  not,  it  is 
secure  in  heaven. 

Since  the  death  of  your  lamented  father  has  left  to 
you  the  uncontrolled  disposal  of  a  large  fortune,  you 
have  the  means  of  extensive  usefulness  at  home.  It 
will  require  much  wisdom  and  piety  to  be  a  judicious 
steward  of  your  Lord's  bounty.  Faithful,  laborious, 
and  intelligent  endeavors  will  enable  you  to  do  as 
much  good  —  I  had  almost  said  —  as  heart  could  wish  ; 
but  when  would  the  heart,  touched  with  compassion  for 
the  woes  of  the  human  race,  be  satisfied  ? 

I  would  not  have  you,  dear  Isabella,  a  visionary  reli- 
gionist, carried  away  with  the  romance  of  religion,  and 
knowing  little  of  its  reality;  there  is  a  "fatal  facility 
wherewith  imaginative  spirits  pass  over  from  the  solid 
ground  of  piety  and  virtue,  to  the  illusory  region  of  en- 
thusiastic excitement." 

I  know  your  generous  nature,  and  believe  I  have  not 
relied  upon  it  too  far  in  thus  giving  free  scope  to  can- 
dor. My  love  for  you,  and  undoubting  faith  in  the  sin- 
cerity of  your  motives,  have  prompted  me  to  exercise 
freely  the  privilege  of  early  and  long-tried  friendship. 

Come,  my  own  Isabella,  and  make  us  a  visit ;  we 
will  then  discuss  these  matters  at  leisure.  Mr.  G 


CONCLUSION.  327 

joins  with  me  in  urging  that  you  do  us  the  pleasure 
without  delay. 

Yours,  I  trust,  in  the  best  of  all  bonds,  —  Christian 
love. 

CLARA  G . 


ISABELLA    TO     AUNT     SUSAN. 

You  will  be  surprised  and  pleased,  my  dear  good 
aunt,  at  the  change  a  few  weeks  have  effected  in  my 
resolves  and  purposes.  Clara  is  the  same  kind,  judi- 
cious friend  as  ever.  Her  arguments,  ably  supported 

by  Mr.  G ,  have  convinced  me  I  can  do  good  at 

home.  I  am  not  yet  wise  and  prudent  enough  for  a 
missionary. 

Another  project  of  mine,  of  which  you  have  not 
heard,  they  cordially  approve.  I  will  tell  you  the  whole 
story.  A  few  days  before  I  left  home,  as  I  went  into 

a  store  in street,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  face  that 

I  thought  \vas  a  familiar  one,  but  it  was  immediately 
averted.  The  lady  who  thus  attracted  my  attention 
was  dressed  in  a  rich,  but  faded,  lilac  silk,  and  a  soiled 
bonnet,  whose  flowers  were  in  "  the  sere  and  yellow 
leaf."  She  had  a  shabby,  foreign  air,  which  led  me  to 
conclude  I  never  could  have  claimed  the  acquaintance 
of  such  an  impersonation  of  forlornity.  She  was  mak- 
ing some  trifling  purchase  ;  the  sound  of  her  well-known 
voice  startled  me,  —  it  was  my  quondam  friend,  Ger- 

aldine  M ,  now  Mrs.  W .  Dear  aunt,  I  had 

not  seen  her  since  the  marriage  morning,  when  we  part- 
ed at  the  church-door,  and  you  cannot  conceive  what  a 
shock  it  gave  me.  Not  wishing  for  a  scene  in  the 
shop,  I  waited  until  she  had  completed  her  purchase. 


328 

and  then  followed  her  into  the  street.  She  walked 
rapidly,  so^that  I  was  obliged  to  call, —  "  Geraldine, 
Geraldine."  She  turned,  and  such  a  haggard,  woe- 
stricken  face  met  my  eye,  that  I  started  back,  about  to 
beg  pardon  for  my  mistake,  when  she  reassured  me, 
by  saying,  —  "  Isabella,  I  thought  you  would  not  wish 
to  recognize  me,  and  hurried  away."  I  held  out  my 
hand,  but  for  a  moment  could  not  speak.  We  walked 
on  together,  until  we  came  to  a  mean-looking  house, 
where  Geraldine  hesitated,  blushed,  and  at  length  invited 
me  to  walk  in,  if  it  would  not  be  "  too  great  a  con- 
descension." I  excused  myself,  saying,  that  I  wrould 
call  the  next  day,  and  should  have  done  so  before,  had 
I  known  that  she  was  in  town. 

I  had  heard,  some  time  since,  of  Mr.  M 's  fail- 
ure, and  that,  notwithstanding  his  own  misfortunes,  he 
continued  to  refuse  to  see  Geraldine.  I  called  the  next 
day,  but  she  was  not  at  home ;  again  I  called,  and  re- 
ceived the  same  message  from  a  dirty  little  servant-girl, 
who  looked  at  my  card  as  if  such  a  curiosity  had  never 
come  into  her  hands  before.  I  requested  our  good 

minister  to  make  inquiries  about  W ,  and  learn,  if 

possible,  how  he  supported  his  family.  He  did  so,  and 
informed  me  that  they  had  very  recently  returned  from 
Italy,  where  they  had  resided  since  their  marriage,  and 
had  taken  one  room  in  the  boarding-house  where  I  at- 
tempted to  call.  The  elegant,  the  splendid  Geraldine 

M reduced  to  such  extremity !  They  are  very 

poor.  W has  been  a  dissipated  gambler,  but 

would  now  gladly  be  employed  in  any  honest  way  for 
a  support.  He  has  been  unkind,  too,  very  unkind,  to 
Geraldine.  God  forgive  and  amend  him ! 

And  now,  my  dear  aunt,  conscience  would  not  let 


CONCLUSION.  329 

me  rest  until  I  had  done  something  for  them.  Through 
the  merciful  providence  of  God,  I  was  spared  from  the 
fate  of  Geraldine.  You  remember  my  girlish  fancy  for 

W .     Rejoice  with  me  that  he  never  suspected  it ! 

Besides,  you  know  I  was  a  witness  of  the  marriage,  and 
in  that  way  an  abettor  of  Geraldine's  disobedience  to 
her  parents. 

I  have  consulted  Mr.  G ,  and  through  his  agency 

have  purchased  a  snug  little  farm,  with  a  pretty  cottage 
upon  it,  which  is  to  be  secured  to  Geraldine.  I  wished 
not  to  be  known  in  this  affair;  but  Clara,  with  her 
straightforward  honesty,  insisted  that  it  would  give 
Geraldine  less  pain  than  to  be  indebted  to  an  unknown 

benefactor.     Mr.  G <-  has  had  the  kindness  to  write 

to  W and  his  wife,  and  (how  shall  I  be  sufficiently 

grateful?)  they  have  accepted  the  offer  with  thankful- 
ness. W says,  his  father  was  a  plain  farmer,  who 

educated  him  at  college  for  a  profession ;  but  instead  of 
reaping  the  advantage  of  a  collegiate  education,  he  set 
up  for  a  gentleman.  So  you  see,  aunt,  this  idea  of  a 
farm  was  a  lucky  Yankee  guess.  He  says  farther,  that 
both  Geraldine  and  himself  will  gladly  escape  from  a 

place  so  fraught  with  painful  associations  as .    They 

will  be  within  two  miles  of  our  excellent  friends,  Mr. 

G and   Clara.     With   their  example    and   advice, 

what  may  they  not  become  ?  And  what  a  beautiful  ex- 
ample of  conjugal  happiness  do  I  behold  from  day  to 
day !  The  most  cheerful  piety  adorns  their  life,  the 
most  active  usefulness  exalts  it.  Happy  in  each  other's 
society,  to  fulfil  the  apostolic  injunction  "to  be  given 
to  hospitality"  must  cost  them  no  little  self-sacrifice. 
Yet  they  do  fulfil  it  to  the  utmost.  How  sweet,  how 
delightful,  is  their  kind  attention  to  me  !  Who  can  leave 
28* 


330 

this  happy  home,  without  having  been  made  wiser  and 
better?  Yet  believe  me,  dear  Aunt  Susan,  my  resolu- 
tion is  firm.  I  shall  emulate  your  goodness  in  single 
blessedness.  I  must  have  your  assistance  and  your 
counsel,  in  dispensing  "judiciously,"  as  my  much-loved 
friend  says,  "the  ample  fortune  that  the  Almighty 
Disposer  has  intrusted  to  my  stewardship."  Our  home, 
too,  may  be  a  happy  one,  dearest  aunt, 

"For  in  thy  heart  there  is  a  holy  spot, 

As  'mid  the  waste  an  isle  of  fount  and  palm 
For  ever  green !     The  world's  breath  enters  not, 
The  passion-tempests  may  not  break  its  calm." 

And  my  impulsive,  impetuous  spirit  shall  be  calmed ; 
for,  with  God's  blessing,  I  will  learn  self-government. 
"I  am  weak,  but  he  is  mighty,"  and,  with  his  holy 
guidance,  I  hope  to  pass  safely  through  the  world,  to  mv 
heavenly  home. 

With  all  my  faults,  love  me?  dear  aunt,  pray  for  ini> 
and  expect  soon  to  see  your 

ISABELLA. 


THE    END. 


LINDSAY  &  BLAKISTON'S  PUBLICATIONS 
A  CHOICE  SELECTION  OF  PROSE  QUOTATIONS. 

TREASURED    THOUGHTS 

FROM 

FAVOURITE  AUTHORS, 

COLLECTED    AND    ARRANGED 

BY 

CAROLINE   MAY, 

MDITOR    OF     "THE    AMERICAN    FEMALE    POETS, 


"The  'treasured  thoughts'  that  come  from  thence, 

Are  not  for  vain  display ; 
But  sterling  coins  for  free  expense, 

The  use  of  every  day : 
A  currency  for  inner  life 

To  keep  its  revenue, 
Of  joy  and  sorrow,  love  and  strife. 

In  balance  straight  and  true." 

A  neat  12mo.  volume. 


OPINIONS    OF    THE    PRESS. 

This  's  a  collection  of  miscellaneous  extracts,  which  betoken  a  cultivated  taste  and  extenaiv* 
reading.  They  embrace  choice  paragraphs  from  the  writings  of 

Bishop  Hall,  Dr.  Johnson,  D'Israeli, 

Lord  Bacon,  Southey,  Carlyle, 

Bishop  Taylor,  Coleridge,  Schiller, 

Goethe,  Irving,  Chalmers, 

Jeremy  Taylor,  Macauley,  Charnock, 

Adam  Smith,  Bethune,  Lowell, 

Hannah  More,  Caroline  Fry,  Mrs.  Sigourney, 

Mrs.  Jameson,  Miss  Edgevvorth,  Miss  Jewsbury. 

The  extracts  are  alphabetically  arranged,  and  will  be  found  invaluable  as  a  book  of  reference. 
The  volume  is  neatly  bound,  and  its  typographical  execution  does  great  credit  to  the  publishers.— 
The  Sun. 


cultivated  by  the  habit  of  refreshing  her  spirit  from  the  richest  and  purest  fountains.  The  namei 
of  Taylor,  dear  old  Jeremy  Taylor!  Fuller,  Izaak  Walton,  Coleridge,  Goethe,  Korner,  Lowell,  Car- 
lyle,  Thomas  a  Kempis,  and  a  host  of  other  glorious  spirits,  men  and  women,  shed  some  of  their 


The  editor  of  these  choice  extracts  gives  the  public  a  proof  of  her  excellent  taste,  evidently 

The  namei 
Lowell,  Car- 

.     ,  ..  _r ome  of  their 

selectest  beams  of  light  upon  these  pages.  We  cannot  too  often  or  too  lovingly  commune  with  tha 
<reat  and  good— the  ever-living  benefactors  of  their  race,  whose  noble  words  of  rebuke  or  of  lofty 
cheer  renew  in  us  continually  ou^highest  ideal  of  virtue.— Saturday  Post. 

The  compiler  has  shown  in  her  selections,  superior  skill,  and  a  sense  of  what  is  really  valuable. 
Pie  extracts  are  lively  and  diversified.  The  whole  forming  an  agreeable  and  profitable  book.— 
.V«u>  York  Christian  Observer. 


They  are  literally  thoughts,  and  memorable  ones,  too.  The  reader  has  but  to  turn  to  the  paire 
indicated,  and  find  what  Barrow,  Jeremy  Taylor,  Hooker,  old  Fuller,  Coleridge,  Carlyle,  and  other 
thinkers,  believed  and  felt  on  things  of  universal  and  absolute  interest.  The  lanre  class  of  readers 
who  like  Tupper's  "Proverbial  Philosophy,"  and  books  of  the  kind,  will  find  this  book  of  "Trea- 
•ured  Thoughts"  a  delightful  and  instructive  companion.—  Home  Journal. 

A  genuine  treasury  of  what  deserve  to  be  "  treasured  thoughts,"  is  eiven  IP  'his  beautiful  volume. 
The  selections  are  from  the  rich  stores  of  the  best  writers  of  pure  English,  from  the  earliest  period, 
up  to  and  including  those  of  the  present  day.  Each  passage  contains  some  valuable  thought  or  bit 
of  Christian  philosophy,  or  s;>me  pointed  anecdote  with  a  tine  moral  Miss  May  gives  evidence  of 
very  extensive  reading:,  and  of  reading,  too,  with  profit.  Her  selections  all  indicate  a  high  moral 
sense,  as  well  as  n  delicate  and  refined  taste.  Her  book  will  be  found  to  perform  the  office  of  • 
library,  without  the  labour  of  searching  for  good  things  through  whole  ranges  of  shelves. 

Reared  in  the  seclusion  of  a  refined  domestic  life,  pervaded  by  an  atmosphere  of  religion  and 
flne  literary  taste,  we  know  what  of  necessity  must  be  the  character  of  Miss  May's  "  Treasured 
Thoughts,"  and  that  they  were  really  so  to  their  gentle  guardian.  So  it  has  proved  to  be.  No 
olume  of  "  Elegant  Extracts."  edited  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  and  "  for  a  consideration"— but  • 
eollection  of  years,  selected  with  judgment,  and  sincere  admiration  for  the  noble  ttuths  or  delinat* 
Mntiments  which  the  vass;v«es  contain  —  Saturday  Gaxeilr 


LINDSAY  &    BLAKISTON 

PUBLISH  THE 

AMERICAN  FEMALE  POETS 

BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CRITICAL  NOTICES, 

BY 
CAROLINE    MAY. 

AN  ELEGANT  VOLUME,  WITH  A  HANDSOME  VIGNETTE  TITLE, 

AND 

PORTRAIT  OF   MRS,  OSGOOD, 

The  Literary  contents  of  this  work  contain  copious  selections  from 

the  writings  of 

Anne  Bradstreet,  Jane  Turell,  Anne  Eliza  Bleecker,  Margaret! 
V,  Faugercs,  Phillis  Wheatley,  Mercy  \Varren,  Sarah  Porter, 
Sarah   Wentworth    Morton,    Mrs.    Little,    Maria    A.    Brooks, 
Lydia  Huntley  Sigourney,  Anna  Maria  "Wells,  Caroline  Gil- 
man,  Sarah  Josepha  Hale,  Maria  J»imes,  Jessie  G.  M'Cartee, 
Mrs.  Gray,  Eliza  Follen,   Louisa  Jane   Hall,  Mrs.  Swift, 
Mrs.  E.  C.  Kinney,  Marguerite  St.  Leon  Loud,  Luella  J. 
Case,  Elizabeth  Bogart,  A.  D.  Woodbridge,  Elizabeth 
Margaret  Chandler,  Emma  C.  Embury,  Sarah  Helena 
Whitman,  Cynthia  Taggart,  Elizabeth  J.  Eames, 

&c.  «fcc,  &c* 

The  whole  forming  a  beautiful  specimen  of  the  highly  cultivated  state  ol 

the  arts  in  the  United  States,  as  regards  the  paper,  topography, 

and  binding  in  rich  and  various  styles. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  PREFACE. 

One  of  the  most  striking  characteristics  of  the  present  age 
*  the  number  of  female  writers,  especially  in  the  department 
-f  belles-lettres.  This  is  even  more  true  of  the  United 
States,  than  of  the  old  world ;  and  poetry,  which  is  the  lan- 
guage of  the  affections,  has  been  freely  employed  among  us 
to  express  the  emotions  of  woman's  heart. 

As  the  rare  exotic,  costly  because  of  the  distance  from 
which  it  is  brought,  will  often  suffer  in  comparison  of  beauty 
and  fragrance  with  the  abundant  wild  flowers  of  our  mea- 
dows and  woodland  slopes,  so  the  reader  of  our  present 
volume,  if  ruled  by  an  honest  taste,  will  discover  in  the  effu- 
sions of  our  gifted  countrywomen  as  much  grace  of  form, 
and  powerful  sweetness  of  thought  and  feeling,  as  in  the 
blossoms  of  woman's  genius  culled  from  other  lands. 


LINDSAY  &    BLAK1STON 

PUBLISH   THE 

BRITISH    FEMALE    POETS: 

WITH 

BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CRITICAL  NOTICES, 

BY 

GEO.   W.   BETHUNE. 

&N    ELEGANT  VOLUME,   WITH   A  HANDSOME   VIGNETTE    TITLE, 

AND 

PORTRAIT  OF  THE  HON.  MRS,  NORTON, 

The  Literary  contents  of  this  work  contain  copious  selections  from 

the  writings  of 

/time  Boleyn,  Countess  of  Arundel,  Queen  Elizabeth,  Duchess  at 

Newcastle,  Elizabeth  Carter?  Mrs.  Tighc,   Miss  Hannah   More, 

Mrs.  Hcinans.  Lady  Flora  Hastings,   Mrs*  Amelia   Opic,    Miss 

Eliza.  Cook,  Mrs*  Southey,  Miss  Lowe,  Mrs.lVorton*  Elizabeth 

B.  Barrett,  Catharine  Parr,  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  Countess 

of  Pembroke,  Lady  Mary  \Vortley  Montague,  Mrs.  Grc— 

ville,  Mrs.  Barbauld,  Joanna  Baillie,  Letitia  Elizabeth 

London,  Charlotte  Elizabeth,    Mary  Russell   Mitford, 

Mrs.  Coleridge,  Mary  Ho\vitt,  Frances  Kenible  Butler, 

&.C.    &C.    «fcc. 

The  whole  forming  a  beautiful  specimen  of  the  highly  cultivated  state  of 

the  arts  in  the  United  States,  as  regards  the  paper,  typography, 

and  binding  in  rich  and  various  styles. 

OPINIONS   OF   THE    PRESS. 

In  the  Department  of  English  poetry,  we  have  long  looked  for  a  spirit  cast  in  nature's  finest,  yel 
most,  elevated  mould,  possessed  of  the  most  delicate  and  exquisite  taste,  the  keenest  perception 
cf  the  innate  true  and  beautiful  in  poetry,  as  opposed  to  their  opposites,  who  could  give  to  us  a 
pure  collection  of  the  British  Female  Poets ;  many  of  them  among  the  choicest  spirits  that  evei 
graced  and  adorned  humanity.  The  object  of  our  search,  in  this  distinct  and  important  mission, 
is  before  us ;  and  we  acknowledge  at  once  in  Dr.  Bethune.  the  gifted  poet,  the  eloquent  divine, 
and  the  humble  Christian,  one  who  combines,  in  an  eminent  degree,  all  the  characteristics  above 
alluded  to.  It  raises  the  mind  loftier,  and  makes  it  purified  with  the  soul,  to  float  in  an  atmosphere 
of  spiritual  purity,  to  peruse  the  elegant  volume  before  us,  chaste,  rich,  and  beautiful,  without  anil 
within.—  The  Spectator 


We  do  not  remember  to  have  seen  any  previous  attempt  to  form  a  poetical  bouquet  exclusively 
from  gardens  planted  by  female  hands,  and  made  fragrant  and  beautiful  by  woman's  gentle  culture. 
We  know  few  men  equally  qualified  with  the  gifted  Editor  of  this  volume  for  the  tasteful  and 
ludidous  selection  and  adjustment  of  the  various  flowers  that  are  to  delight  with  their  sweetness, 
soothe  with  their  softness,  and  impart  profit  with  their  sentiment.  The  volume  is  enriched  witii 
Biograpnical  Skelcnes  of  some  sixty  poetesses,  each  sketch  being  followed  with  specimens  charac- 
ts;:stic  of  her  style  and  powers  of  verse.  In  beauty  of  typography,  and  general  getting  up,  th* 
tt'lume  is  quite  equal  to  the  best  issues  of  its  tasteful  and  enterprising  publishers. — Episcopal  Recorder. 

It  is  handsomely  embellished,  and  may  be  described  as  a  casket  of  gems.  Dr.  Bethune,  who  • 
Himself  a  poet  of  no  mean  genius,  has  in  this  volume  exhibited  the  most  refined  taste.  The  work 
may  be  regarded  as  a  treasury  of  nearly  all  the  best  pieces  of  British  Female  Poets.— Inquirer. 

This  volume,  which  is  far  more  suited  for  a  holyday  gift  than  many  which  are  prepared  expressly 
for  the  purpose,  contains  extracts  from  all  the  most  distinguished  English  Female  Poets,  selectod 
wiln  the  laste  and  judgment  which  we  have  a  right  to  expect  from  the  eminent  divine  and  highly 
gifted  poet  whose  name  auorns  the  title  page.  It  is  a  rare  collection  of  the  richest  gerns. — Haiti- 
ttore  American. 

Dr.  Bethune  has  selected  his  materials  with  exquisite  taste,  culling  the  fairest  and  sweetort 
Bowers  from  the  extensive  field  cultivated  by  the  British  Female  Poets.  The  brief  Biographical 
Notices  add  much  interest  to  the  volume,  and  vastly  increase  its  value.  It  is  pleasant  to  hud  Hard- 
working and  close-thinking  divines  thus  recreating  themselves,  and  contributing  by  their  racr**- 
tious  to  the  refinement  of  the  age.  Dr.  Bethune  has  brought  to  his  task  poetic  enthusiasm,  and  • 
?culy  perceution  of  the  pure  and  beautiful  —N.  Y.  Commercial. 


LINDSAY  &  BLAKISTON  PUBLISH 

WATSON'S   .--*-, 
DIOTIONARY  OF  POETICAL  QUOTATIONS 

CONSISTING   OP 

ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  ON  EVERY  SUBJECT, 

COMPILED  FROM  VARIOUS  AUTHORS,  AND  ARRANGED  U  N  D  I  8 
APPROPRIATE  HEADS, 

BY  JOHN  T.  WATSON,  M.  D., 

WITH 

NINE  SPLENDID  ILLUSTRATIONS  ON  STEEL, 

INCLUDING 


The  Noontide  Dream, 

Contemplation, 

Modesty, 

The  Thunder-Storm. 


The  Village  Tomb-Cutter, 

The  Parting  Wreath, 

Bereavement, 

The  Bashful  Lover, 


Love  and  Innocence. 


OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS. 

We  may  safely  recommend  this  book  as  a  collection  of  some  of  the  most  beautiful  conception! 
elegantly  expressed,  to  be  found  in  the  range  of  English  and  American  poetry. — Saturday  Conner 


We  regard  this  as  the  best  book  of  a  similar  character  yet  published.— Germantown  Telegraph 


In  this  Dictionary  of  Quotations  every  subject  is  touched  upon ;  and,  while  the  selection  has  been 
carefully  made,  it  has  the  merit  of  containing  the  best  thoughts  of  the  Poets  of  our  own  day,  wluch 
no  other  collection  has.—  U.  S.  Gazette, 

The  selections  in  this  book  are  made  with  taste  from  all  poets  of  note,  and  are  classed  under  » 
l,Teat  variety  of  subjects. — Presbyterian. 

The  Quotations  appear  to  have  been  selected  with  great  judgment  and  taste,  by  one  well  acquainted 
with  whatever  is  most  elegant  and  beautiful  in  the  whole  range  of  literature. — Christian  Observer. 

A  volume  exhibiting  industry  and  taste  on  the  part  of  the  compiler,  which  will  often  facilitate  r» 
searches  in  the  mines  of  gold  whence  it  was  dug.—Maysville  Eagle. 

In  his  arrangement,  the  compiler  hns  assisted  the  immortal  Shakspeare  his  deserved  pre-eminence, 
and  illumined  his  pages  with  the  choicest  beauties  of  the  British  Poets. — Herald. 

We  do  not  hesitate  to  commend  it  to  our  poetry-loving  readers,  as  a  book  worth  buying,  and  wort* 
wading.— Clinton  Republican. 

The  extracts  display  great  care  and  taste  on  the  part  of  the  editor,  are  arranged  in  chronologi-ai 
wder,  and  embrace  passages  from  all  the  poets,  from  the  earliest  period  of  our  literature  to  the  jire- 
*>ti.  time.— State  Gazette. 

This  book  will  be  read  with  interest,  as  containing  the  best  thoughts  of  the  best  poets,  and  is  con- 
venient for  reference,  because  furnishing  appropriate  quotations  to  illustrate  a  vast  variety  of  subjects. 
— Old  Colmy  Memorial 

•  We  »iew  it  as  a  casket  filled  with  the  most  precious  gems  of  learning  and  fancy,  and  so  nrranjre^ 
••  to  /vcinate,  at  a  glam  e,  the  delicate  eye  of  taste.  By  referring  to  the  index,  which  is  arranged  ID 
alphabetical  order,  you  can  find,  in  a  moment,  the  best  ideas  of  the  most  inspired  poets  of  this  country 
H  tvell  as  L'uDpe,  u[on  any  desired  subject.— Chroniclt. 


LINDSAY  &    BLAKISTON 

HAVE  JUST  PUBLISHED 

THE  WOMEN   OF  THE  SCRIPTURES, 

EDITED     BY     THE 

REV.   H.   HASTINGS   WELD; 

WITH 

ORIGINAL  LITERARY  CONTRIBUTIONS, 

BY 

DISTINGUISHED  AMERICAN  WRITERS: 

BEAUTIFULLY  ILLUSTRATED  BY 

TWELVE  SUPEKB   ENGRAVINGS  ON  STEEL, 
BY  J,  SARTAIN,  PHILADELPHIA, 

FROM  ORIGINAL  DESIGNS,   EXPRESSLY  FOR  THE  WORK, 

BY   T,   P,    ROSSITER,   NEW    YORK! 

INCLUDING 


Miriam, 
Eve, 
Sarah, 
Rachel, 


Hannah, 

Ruth, 

Queen  of  Sheba, 

Sh  una  mite, 


Esther, 

The  Syrophenicia* 

Martha, 

The  Marys. 


Elegantly  Bound  in  White  Calf,  Turkey  Morocco,  and  Cloth 
Extra,  with  Gilt  Edges. 


PREFACE. 

THE  subject  of  this  book  entitles  it  to  a  high  place  among  illustrated 
olumes.  The  execution,  literary  and  artistic,  will,  we  are  confident,  be 
found  worthy  of  the  theme ;  since  we  have  received  the  assistance  ot 
authors  best  known  in  the  sacred  literature  of  our  country,  in  presenting, 
in  their  various  important  attitudes  and  relations,  the  WOMEN  OF  TH* 
SCRIPTURES.  The  contents  of  the  volume  were  prepared  expressly  for  it, 
with  the  exception  of  the  pages  from  the  pen  of  Mrs.  Balfour;  and  for  the 
republication  of  her  articles,  no  one  who  reads  them  will  require  an  apology. 
The  designs  for  the  engravings  are  original;  and  the  Publishers  trust  that 
in  the  present  volume  they  have  made  their  best  acknowledgment  for  uie 
favour  with  which  its  predecessors  have  been  received.  The  whole,  they 
oeiieve,  will  be  found  no  inapt  memento  of  those  to  whom  St.  Peter  refer* 
the  sex  for  an  enyainpie  :  "  ''IP  holy  women,  in  the  old  time." 


LINDSAY  &  BLAKISTON 

HAVE  RECENTLY  PUBLISHED, 

SCENES  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  SAVIOUR,  t 

BY   THE 

POETS  AND   PAINTERS: 

C  OBTAINING 

ANY    GEMS    OF    ART    A  W  D    G-E2TXU8, 

ILLUSTRATIVE     OF 

THE  SAVIOUR'S  LIFE  AND  PASSION, 

EDITED    BY    THE 

REV.   RUFUS  GRISWOLD. 

THE   ILLUSTRATIONS,  WHICH  ARE  EXQUISITELY  ENGRAVED  ON  STEEL, 
BY  JOHN  SARTAIN,  ARE  : 

Walking  on  the  Sea,  by  Henry  Richter ; 
The  Ten  Lepers,  by  A.  Vandyke  ; 
The  Last  Supper,  by  Benjamin  West ; 
The  Women  at  the  Sepulchre,  by  Philip  Virt. 


The  Holy  Family,  painted  by  N.  Poussin ; 
The  Saviour,  by  Paul  Delaroche ; 
Christ  by  the  Well  of  Sychar,  by  Emelie  Signol ; 
The  Daughter  of  Jarius,  by  Delonne  ; 


THE  LITERARY  CONTENTS,  COMPRISING  SIXTY-FOUR  POEMS,   ARE  BY 

Milton,  Ilemsviis,  Montgomery,  Keljle,  Mrs.  Sigonrney,  Miss  L.aas« 

don,  Dale,  Willis,  Bulftnch,  Betliune,  Longfellow,  Whittier, 

Croly,  Klopstocls,  Mrs*  Osgood,  Pierpoiit,  Crosswell,  and 

other  celebrated  Poets  of  this  and  other  Countries* 

The  volume  is  richly  and  beautifully  bound  in  Turkey  Morocco,  gilt,  whita 
talf  extra,  or  embossed  cloth,  gilt  edges,  sides  and  back. 

We  commend  this  volume  to  the  attention  of  those  who  would  place  a 
Souvenir  in  the  hands  of  their  friends,  to  invite  them  in  the  purest  strains  of 
poetry,  and  by  the  eloquence  of  art,  to  study  the  Life  of  the  Saviour. — Christ.  Oba. 

The  contents  are  so  arranged  as  to  constitute  a  Poetical  and  Pictorial  Life 
of  the  Saviour,  and  we  can  think  of  no  more  appropriate  gift-book.  In  typo- 
graphy,  embellishments,  and  binding,  we  have  recently  seen  nothing  more 
tasteful  and  rich. — North  American. 

We  like  this  book,  as  well  for  its  beauty  as  for  its  elevated  character,  ft 
is  just  such  an  one  as  is  suited,  either  for  a  library,  or  a  parlour  centre-table  j 
and  no  one  can  arise  from  its  perusal  without  feeling  strongly  the  sublimity 
%nd  enduring  character  of  the  Christian  religion. — Harrisburg  Telegraph. 

This  is  truly  a  splendid  volume  in  all  its  externals,  while  its  contents  are 
richly  worthy  of  the  magnificent  style  in  which  they  are  presented.  As  illus- 
trations of  the  Life  and  Passion  of  the  Saviour  of  mankind,  it  will  form  an 
appropriate  Souvenir  for  the  season  in  which  we  commemorate  his  coming 
tpon  earth. — Neal's  Gazette. 


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